The Creation
by Smelly Pirate Hooker
Summary: A humorous "behind the scenes" look at the events surrounding the creation.  Reviews absolutely appreciated.
1. 1 Before the Beginning

**1**

**Before the Beginning**

In the very, very, very beginning there was darkness. If eyes had existed to view it they would have noted that it was of the infinite variety.

Then something unprecedented happened: there was an explosion. It was an impressive display of celestial pyrotechnics, even considering that no other such explosions existed to which it could be compared, and the fact that there was no being present to even make such a comparison. At any rate, the end result was a googolplex of debris radiating in all directions. The infinite darkness was no more, as it was littered now with fiery detritus.

But something else emerged out of that big bang: a consciousness.

This consciousness was without form but was entirely self-aware. It remembered the moment of its birth, the agony of the fire that had brought it into being, but it did not dwell on the memory. It scanned the multifaceted darkness, now littered with its celestial afterbirth (for it already believed that everything existed solely for its pleasure) and thought, that was interesting, so now what?

Time passed. And in that time the consciousness traveled the length and breadth of its dominion, a simple task for one so powerful. As the consciousness had no form it was not subject to any laws, so in the blink of a non-existent eye it could travel from one end of the universe to the other. After doing so several hundred times it started to wish it had companionship, another consciousness with which to share the majesty of existence.

"Hello," said a deep and pleasant voice.

The consciousness noticed that it was no longer alone. "Where did you come from?" the consciousness asked this new entity, curious yet suspicious. The entity looked like an amorphous fog, pulsing with flickering, multi-colored lights. The consciousness wondered if it looked the same, then immediately knew that though it did look similar, its amorphous cloud was much bigger and grander than that of its new . . . The consciousness stalled. It needed a word.

"What shall I call you?" it asked.

The second, smaller consciousness answered, "I am your creation. Name me as you will."

"Fine, then. I shall call you Michael but I reserve the right to change my mind."

"As you wish, my Lord" replied Michael, and the first consciousness felt a little shiver tickle through its ether at those words.

"My Lord?" it asked, and knew that it was the word. And the word was the law. "Yes, I am your Lord. In fact, I believe I am _the _Lord."

"You are the only one I see here and you created me so I have to agree with you. In that light, my Lord, what do you wish of me?"

Yet again the Lord gave pause. Now that it had him, what did it want from Michael? "I'll get back to you on that one," said the Lord.

"As you wish," said Michael.

The two non-corporeal entities sat. Or rather, since they had no bottoms to sit upon and no chairs upon which to sit anyway, they just sort of floated through the universe, drifting silently and nearly imperceptibly toward the nearest black hole.

Eons passed. Or perhaps it was only seconds. Either way, the Lord had not yet developed a way to quantify the passage of time and what was the passage of time anyway to indestructible celestial beings.

But time did pass and the Lord grew bored.

"I sense that my Lord is unhappy," said Michael, "What can your servant do to lift your spirits?"

"Well first of all, don't ever talk about yourself in the 3rd person. It lends a certain patina of nut job to your existence and the Lord will not have crazy followers."

"I do not understand the meaning of your words, my Lord."

"I know," said the Lord, "That's because I just made most of them up. Because I am the Lord."

"Yes, we've already established that," said Michael.

"Growing cheeky, are we?" asked the Lord.

"Your humble servant . . . I mean, _I_ apologize, my Lord. But we've been floating out here for quite some time now and I don't know if you've noticed but we've moved quite a bit without really trying. To be honest I'm staring to feel a little like I'm being pulled apart."

"Oh that? That's just the black hole," said the Lord noncommittally.

"What's a black hole?"

"A hole. It's black. It sucks things in and they never return."

"I see. Well then, good name for it."

"Thank you, my child, I thought of it myself. Now, do you have any other complaints you would like to bring up to the one who breathed life into you?"

"Actually, yes. Would you mind breathing life into some others? Two is company but with five or six we might actually be able to keep a conversation going. And while you're at it, what do you say you give me a corporeal body and a place to rest it? I have had an itch along the top of my ether cloud for the longest time with no way to scratch it."

The silence that followed Michael's request was deafening, as only deep space silence can be . He became agitated, which caused the little multi-colored lights in his non-corporeal cloud to flicker even faster. The Lord made note of this agitation and filed it away for future use.

"You are impertinent, my child," said the Lord.

"I apologize. But seriously, you don't talk much."

"My mind is otherwise occupied with the mysteries and the wonders of this universe, which I created."

"You created _all _of this?" asked Michael, incredulous.

The Lord flashed with lightning and bristled at the implied accusation. He prepared to smite Michael and replace him with an entity that would worship him the way he needed to be worshipped then realized that he could not destroy his first creation, no matter how imperfect, and the anger dissipated.

The Lord looked upon his creation and said, "As you wish."

"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty, who was and is and is to come." The voices of the Seraphim were pure and clear and gratingly loud and they never, ever stopped singing that same line, over and over. Michael had remained silent for a long time, had taken it all in stride, but enough was enough.

"Will you please, for the love of the Lord, shut up?" Michael shouted and the Seraphim reeled away from their chosen places just above the Lord's amorphous cloud, each flapping two of their giant crimson wings as they fluttered away into space. They continued to sing as they left but their voices were quieter and therefore easier to ignore.

"What troubles you, my child?" asked the Lord in a tone of voice that suggested he knew exactly what the problem was, and he relished it. "I have given you everything you asked for."

"Everything?" asked Michael incredulously, "Not quite."

"How so?" the Lord asked.

"Yeah, how so?" echoed the Cherubim that surrounded the Lord. And then they giggled, a sound which was greatly at odds with their nightmarish visages. They were beings that benefitted from the infinite nothingness of space because they were so ugly no one should have to look upon them.

"I asked you for companions, and you create the Cherubim," said Michael, trying in vain to get the Lord to understand.

"What is wrong with them? They stand beside me and protect me. Am I not to be protected?" asked the Lord.

"Protected from what? We're the only beings you've created and you are without question the most powerful of all of us. So unless you plan on creating a being of equal power to be your adversary you are not in any immediate danger. But you still created these . . . these things . . . With the wings and the faces and the feet . . . They are disturbing, to say the least."

"I like them," said the Lord.

"Yeah, he likes us," said the Cherubim.

"Who asked you?" asked the Lord and they stopped their tittering. The Lord's temperament was nothing if not changeable.

"And then you created the Seraphim," said Michael, "And to be honest I do not even know what you were thinking with them."

"It is not for you to know my thoughts. Michael shall know Michael's thoughts and the Lord shall know the Lord's thoughts and the Cherubim shall recite the Lord's thoughts as the Lord speaks them and the Seraphim shall sing songs of glory to the Lord until the end of time . . ."

"Now who has a patina of nut job?" Michael muttered darkly, then continued in a fuller voice. "That song has to go, or at least teach them another verse. And what is up with their wings? They only fly with two, so why do they have six? Personally, I think you're a little obsessive."

"They need wings to cover their faces and their feet, because feet are unclean and not fit to show to the Lord and if they were to look upon my glory they would be incinerated, so they must always have their faces covered and their eyes averted even as they praise me," answered the Lord.

Well, that did it. Michael screamed, "If this were going to be an issue you should have made them without eyes and feet. But seriously, you're a cloud full of flashing lights! Granted, you have unfathomable power but you're ridiculously self-absorbed!"

"I am sorry you feel that way, my child," said the Lord. The Lord's appearance of peace stood at odds to Michael's frustration but instead of calming the angry wisp of ether, it infuriated him.

"But that's not everything. You have created these fantastical creatures and have given them each a bung of wings and grotesque bodies, and yet I remain an amorphous cloud. You have given your monsters special tasks, yet I remain without direction. Why can I not have a body? Why did you create me? Why are we even here? Do you like to see me suffer?"

The Lord said, "In answer to your first question, I keep you as you are for two reasons: because I have not yet perfected my art and I would not want to turn you, my first creation, into a disaster of a being like these guys." The Lord said to the Cherubim flitting around him in a circle, "No offense guys, okay?"

"What ever you say," the Cherubim answered in unison. Michael wanted to smack them but he had no arms with which to strike.

"In answer to your second question," said the Lord, "I created you to be my companion, my trusted servant, to never doubt me, to praise me and to serve me."

"You're right, then, you haven't perfected your powers yet," said Michael.

"In answer to your third question, we are here because I wish us to be here, because I need to be praised. That is the purpose of your life, of all of their lives."

"Okay, now I think it's more than a patina."

The Lord ignored the comment and continued, "And in answer to your fourth question . . ." the Lord paused.

Michael said nothing but if he could have leaned forward in anticipation or held his breath he would have.

"I do like to see you suffer," finished the Lord. "It fascinates me."

Michael wanted to say something but could not form the words. The Lord's cloud was quiet; the lights that flashed deep within were dim at best. This conversation hadn't touched him.

On the other hand Michael was deeply moved. If the Lord had seen fit to give him a heart it would have been broken. He floated away, wanting nothing more at that moment than to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Lord. But as he drifted farther from the Lord and his menagerie of disturbing creatures, Michael's entire being began to ache. Each dimple, each twist of amorphous fog offered him only a steady thrumming of pain. Each second he was away from his Lord was agony.

And then he heard the Lord's voice calling out to him, "If you see my Seraphim, tell them they can return now. I am feeling less adored every second they do not sing to me."

Anger flared to replace the agony in his soul and Michael surged forward, passing farther and farther into the cosmos, farther and farther away from his Lord. And as he moved, he was consumed by only one thought: he needed to snap the Lord out of his self-absorption or the Lord just might destroy them all. He needed a diversion.

And as if in response to a prayer he hadn't uttered, Michael had the answer.


	2. 2 We Are Family

**2**

**We Are Family**

Michael had planned to steer clear of the Lord and his gallery of monstrosities to give himself time to organize his thoughts. He had a plan. His plan was brilliant and no, he didn't mind telling himself that. He was, after all, created by the most self-centered entity in the known universe. At the moment that didn't mean much but still, some of that was bound to rub off.

As he traveled slowly across the cosmos, pausing every now and then to admire the flickering of a star, or the dramatic arc of a nebula, he felt a sudden, electric impulse zing through his amorphous cloud. The Lord needed him. Now.

Michael raced through the darkness. Stars flew by in streaks of light. At one point he even outpaced this orb of freezing gas careening across the universe but he couldn't even stop to gloat about it because he had to get back. He promised the orb that he would return to beat it again and when he did he would entertain it with a proper gloating.

The place to which Michael returned was wholly different from the place he had left. It embodied chaos. The Seraphim were going insane, flying haphazardly in all directions, crashing into and dispersing these strange cloud formations while shrieking their song in discordant tones. Not that the Seraphim going insane was anything new. They were dysfunctional and awkward and it didn't help that they always had one set of wings covering their heads so they couldn't see shit. The four-faced Cherubim chased each other in circles around the cloud-towers, shouting, "You're it!" every time they happened to crash into each other, then flying away, cackling insanely.

And then there were the clouds . . . They were everywhere, huge, bulbous, incredible structures that defied his ability to invent words to describe them. There were colors that were sort of . . . well . . . they were colors, of that he was sure, though which ones and in what order he had no idea. Michael felt certain that the clouds hadn't been there when he had stormed off. The Lord had been busy; that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Oh my god," muttered Michael, "This is chaos."

"Oh, I like that very much," said the Lord from behind Michael. "Henceforth I shall be known as God," God announced, his deep voice booming across the ever-shifting landscape of clouds. The Seraphim and the Cherubim didn't even seem to notice that God had spoken. Ah, Michael mused, how quickly our children turn from us.

He shifted his consciousness to behold God and was treated to the sight of the most unusual looking creature. Yet in a strange way it was also the most beautiful creature that the Lord had created thus far. And it was staring at him with beady black eyes and a smile on its strange, elongated mouth. The smile was slightly disturbing and slightly charming at the same time, which just made it adorable. It was smaller than the Seraphim, smaller than God's amorphous cloud had been, but it was solid and looked smooth and . . . Grey. Yes, he liked the sound of that word. Instead of wings like the angels it had these two flat, bladelike appendages that stuck out from its sides and one more on its back. And it had this weird thing going on with its back end that Michael didn't understand at all, like a pair of sideways wings but without the feathers.

"What is that behind you?" Michael asked.

And then the creature spoke in the Lord's voice. "That is my tail. Isn't it glorious?" And then, as if to prove a point, God swished the appendage and completed a little flip in mid-space. Michael had to admit that the Lord had a point; it was quite graceful.

"God," said God.

"What?"

"I said everyone is to call me God."

"I didn't say anything," said Michael, his ire rising.

"You thought it. And thinking is the same as doing."

Michael wanted to shake his head but he had no head to shake. Instead he said, "That just doesn't make any sense. The two are worlds apart. And why do I suddenly feel not like myself?"

God opened his long, thin mouth and let out a very bizarre sound that Michael thought was a laugh but he couldn't be sure. Either way he knew things didn't look good for him if God was laughing at him.

"What's happening?" he asked.

"It already happened," said God, "Look."

Michael looked down. And then realized that he actually could look down. As in: he could actually bend his neck slightly in order to point his eyes in a downward direction. It felt marvelous. It also kind of made him want to throw up, but even that was marvelous. God had made him a body just like his own. Michael was so proud that he swished his tail and completed a series of flips through space that really made him want to vomit. He chattered with glee, a strange sound, an even stranger feeling now that he actually had a physical body for the sound to reverberate within. The sound tickled his chest. He had never been happier.

"This is brilliant!" Michael called out as he made his way back over to where God was waiting for him, that strange perma-grin still on his face. "What do you call this creature?"

"A Doluphinium," said God.

Michael cocked his head. "Really? A Doluphinium? It's a bit fancy, isn't it?"

God was open to suggestions but irritation was evident in his voice. "Fine, my child, what would you suggest?"

"Well, I think the root of the word has a nice ring to it, so why don't we just call ourselves 'dolphins'?" He was eager to ease God's aggravation lest God decide to turn him into something resembling one of the Cherubim, but he also didn't relish the thought of spending eternity with such a jacked-up moniker.

God appeared to be thinking very hard about Michael's suggestion. Moments later he announced in his most God-like voice, "Henceforth, we shall be called 'Dolphins'."

"You really like that word 'henceforth', don't you?" Michael asked.

"Of course. I made it up while you were gone so I may as well use it now that you're back. It's not like any of these other guys allow me to get a word in edgewise."

"You finally regretting the Seraphim?"

"God does not regret. God does not make mistakes."

"Of course not," Michael said.

"And speaking of no mistakes," said God suddenly, "I would like you to meet your brothers."

Michael shook his head and asked, "Brothers?" just to be sure he'd heard correctly.

"Oh yes. You said you wanted a physical body so I thought I would try out a few ideas I'd been tossing around just to see how they work."

Michael was terrified at the prospect of meeting more of God's creations but he did his best to feign excitement as God called out, "Come, my children! Come and meet your brother!"

They heeded God's call, emerging from the columns of pastel-colored clouds, rising from the foggy depths and flying, trotting, or walking towards God. Some of the Cherubim came as well because they were stupid. At least, thought Michael, the Seraphim knew enough to stay away. He could hear their song echoing faintly across the clouds but he could no longer see any of them.

"So, what do you think?" asked God once the creatures were amassed before them. "Have I not chosen the most perfect form for you and me?"

Michael surveyed the group. The three Cherubim watched him with the eyes of all four of their faces, and also with all of the eyes that dotted the sets of wings covering their bodies. It was unsettling. Each of their four faces was hopeful, as if they craved kindness from Michael, God's first child. But Michael didn't have it within him to give it to them.

"Cherubim, I don't think that God was talking to you," he said. As the twelve faces of the three Cherubim fell and the eyes on their wings started to leak and blink a lot, he added, "But good job coming when God summoned his children. Points for effort, yes?"

That seemed to please them and they giggled and scattered into the cloud city behind them. And that left seven beings, Michael's supposed brothers.

God introduced them one by one, starting with the one on the right. "This is Gabriel," said God. "As you can see, I used one of the faces of the Cherubim as a model and then designed the rest of the body to fit."

"I see that," said Michael as he studied his brother before him. Gabriel was quite a bit smaller than Michael. He also had a large, bony, hooked protrusion for a mouth, nasty-looking talons for feet, and was covered head to tail in brown, soft-looking feathers. "What is it?" he asked of God.

"I call it an eagle and he will be my messenger when the time comes that I need to send a message to someone. And he has wings, too. Gabriel, show him your wings." The eagle spread his wings and Michael had to admit he was impressed. They were finer, more detailed and yet simpler. They were a perfect unison of function and form, something that was not God's forte. Suddenly, Michael's joy at being a dolphin dimmed a little. He wanted a pair of wings, too.

"Nice wings," said Michael, trying not to hold a grudge against Gabriel and failing. He told himself it was okay, because God really did mean well, he just didn't understand what was going on a lot of the time. Telling himself that didn't make him feel any better. "Glad you went with only two," he told God.

"Wait until you hear his voice. Gabriel, speak!" God commanded.

And Gabriel opened his beak, jutted out his head and let loose with a piercing shriek that made Michael jump.

"Well, that is truly annoying. Why wouldn't you give him a normal voice?"

Michael wasn't sure how it was possible but he could have sworn God just shrugged. "It seemed more interesting this way."

"It's not your first bad idea, nor shall it be your last," Michael muttered as God smiled his enigmatic dolphin smile, swished his tail, and moved down the line.

"This is Raphael."

Michael looked. He looked again. Nothing was there. He began to think that God was losing his marbles. What with all of the creating and the God-being, maybe he was just a little tired. "Um . . . God? What exactly am I supposed to be looking at? Hello, empty space, pleased to meet you."

God chuckled. It sounded more like a wheeze but Michael knew a chuckle when he heard one, and he knew when one was directed at him. "Look closer, my son."

Michael peered hard into the space beside God and realized that something small was flitting about near God's . . . flipper? Yeah, he thought, flipper will work for now. The small thing came forward, drawing Michael's attention as if it were a dim star being dangled on a string. But it wasn't a star. It was a beautiful little thing with shimmering wings a color of blue that Michael had never seen before. His body was long and lean and when he landed on Michael's flipper he was so light that Michael couldn't even feel it.

"He's beautiful," said Michael in awe. He wished he had some other way to study Raphael but his flippers were only so big and his body only bent so much that it was futile.

"He's a butterfly. And he's a healer of souls."

"I see," Michael said even though he didn't. What was a soul, anyway? "Does this one also make noises that make me wish I had never come back?"

"Don't be silly, Michael," God chided, "Butterflies can't talk."

"Then things are looking up. Please continue."

God made quick work of the rest of Michael's brothers, naming them as he went and barely giving Michael time to process the creatures before him, let alone remember their names.

"This is Uriel. He's a dragon and a guardian."

"A guardian of what?"

"Of whatever I tell him to guard. Aren't his scales magnificent? But watch out, he breathes fire and he hasn't quite learned to control it yet."

"Noted," said Michael as he moved gingerly past the enormous red creature with the nasty black claws and the wings that looked as if they were made of starlight pressed flat and stretched between bones. Uriel's toxic yellow eyes followed him as he went.

"And Remiel, my merciful one, is a unicorn, of course."

Michael sighed. How can there be an 'of course' when he didn't know what a unicorn was? But instead of asking he just went with it. It was just easier that way. "Of course," he agreed, as he looked the creature up and down. He had to admit that it was stunning. It had a muscular body covered in short white hair, skinny but powerful legs, and eyes as black as space set into a long head topped with white hair. And from right between those eyes protruded a long, spiral horn. Even though the horn itself was an unappealing yellowish-brownish color it seemed to glow from the inside.

"Looks pointy," said Michael.

"Is pointy," said God. "Next we have Raguel, my eyes and my judge."

Raguel looked a lot like Remiel, except bigger, fatter, browner, and with two thick horns protruding from his skull instead of one. They looked uncomfortable but Michael wasn't about to say that out loud because Raguel's eyes were already so sad he couldn't bring himself to make his brother any more depressed than he obviously already was.

"This one is from a Cherub face as well, isn't it?"

"Yes. He's an Ox. With a head like that the body was the tricky part. I must admit I was running out of inspiration when I created him, so I just took Remiel's body, changed its color and bulked it up a bit."

"Who am I to judge?" asked Michael.

"No one, Michael. That's not your job." God moved to the last creature in the line and said, "And now we have your second to last brother, Sariel. He is to be a healer and a judge should any of my angels get out of hand."

"Angels?" Michael asked, but even as the word left his mouth it felt right. It tasted sweet on his tongue. He was an angel. These were his angelic brothers, even the insane ones.

"You eight are my Archangels, the princes of my creations."

Michael conducted a quick head count in silence and came up with seven. "God, where'd you get the number eight from?"

God turned around and counted the group himself, then started laughing and turning backward loops in the air. "Silly me. I forgot Sataniel. Sataniel, where are you?" God called out. His voice bounced among the clouds, ricocheted off of the cloudbanks, eventually found an unimpeded trajectory and flew off into space.

A creature emerged from behind a fat pillar of clouds. This must be Sataniel. His face was molded after the final Cherub face and it was perfect. He had eyes that matched the color of the clouds behind him (Michael had decided to call that color purple) and those were the first things Michael noticed. Then came the full lips, the strong nose and jaw, the hair that was so pale it was almost white and fell in soft waves to his shoulders (and what shoulders they were, so broad, so strong), the minute details of the muscles beneath his pale, pale skin. And then the wings . . . God had finally gotten it right. The feathers picked up the hues from the surrounding clouds and reflected them outward in a soft, pure light. He was a masterpiece. Michael wanted to cry.

"Oh, my God," whispered Michael as Sataniel walked purposefully toward them on two legs over the dips and bumps of the clouds, "He's beautiful."

"Eh . . . He's okay, I guess," said God. "I call him a man."

The closeness of God's voice made Michael jump. "Please don't sneak up on me like that."

"You asked very nicely but your request is denied. Sometimes it's the only fun I have." And then God changed the subject, "So what do you think of your brothers?"

"That depends. Can he talk?" Michael asked, gesturing to Sataniel with a flipper.

"No. I got sidetracked by the dolphin idea before I gave him a voice."

"Honestly?" asked Michael, already knowing that he couldn't keep his mouth shut even if God said 'no', and also that God probably already knew what was in his head anyway so he may as just say it.

"As honest as you would like to be with yourself," said God.

Wonderful, thought Michael, now I have to deal with "Cryptic God". His brothers were still standing in a line, watching the scene with keen interest. He wondered what they were thinking about. Had God even given them brains to think? Were they envious of Michael's voice and privileged place beside God? Who knew? Perhaps they were planning his death by a bloody goring on twisted horns, or maybe death by dragon fire? He didn't like giving space in his head to either idea so he turned to God and said, "I thank you, God, for this body you have given unto me, and I shall respect your decision should you choose to say 'no' to my requests."

"What would you ask of me, my son?" asked God, sounding far too benevolent to be sincere.

"I want to look like that," Michael said flatly, pointing a flipper at the man-shaped angel, who was busy stroking the white, horned angel's nose with long, artistic fingers. "I think we should all look like that."

"But my son, do you not enjoy your uniqueness? Have I not given you the greatest of all forms? Am I not inhabiting the same form?"

"Yes, God, but none of these other forms is entirely practical for communicating or for getting around this . . . Does this place even have a name?"

"I was thinking Heaven."

Michael smiled his dolphin smile. "Good name."

"Thank you, my child. I was also thinking of putting in a few more levels, just to see how it would look."

"That's exactly the kind of thing I wanted to talk to you about. But first thing's first: we all need to look like a man . . . Like men. Maybe not exactly the same, I mean, he is awfully pale, but at least in the same general shape."

Michael turned to address his brothers. "Rama, Gabrielle, Anal, Reeses, the beautiful one, or whatever. Sorry, I can't remember your names at the moment. I'll work on that later. But do you agree what we should all be man-shaped?"

His brothers, at least those who could, nodded their assent. Michael was pleased God had at least given them the brains to comprehend, if not the voices to express themselves. Knowing he had them on his side allowed him to continue with confidence. "And once you've made us all similar and given us all voices to speak with, I had some other ideas as well—"

"Such as?" asked God, cutting Michael off. Michael heard the amusement in God's voice and knew exactly what he found so funny; he already knew what Michael was going to say.

But he had been asked, so he said, "You lack focus, God. You need a project, and soon, or else Heaven is going to get very, very crowded with your creations. And not all of them are going to be winners."

"Like the Cherubim?" asked God.

"You have to admit that they are freaky."

"I admit nothing."

"Fine. Suit yourself. But at least create a place for you to play, somewhere you can confine your creations so that we aren't forced to look at them, or listen to them, all the time. So, what do you say?"

God smiled. His black eyes sparkled mischievously. And then everything went dark.

Michael hesitated. It was dark. Like dark-dark. He was afraid to move lest he bump into something, or someone. And it was quiet. He couldn't even hear the mind-bogglingly annoying voices of the Seraphim anymore and that was just plain weird. It was so quiet that Michael had a hard time imagining he wasn't completely alone, a thought he despised. Very quickly his mind started to wander to scenarios featuring an eternity of this emptiness. His very being began to ache for the closeness of the Lord.

"God?" he said and his voice echoed in the vacuum. Panic choked him and stole his voice so that the next time he spoke it was a mere squeak.

"God? Anyone?"

"I am here, my child," said God. The voice had no direction, but instead seemed to come from all around him. At once Michael felt the balm of God's divine presence wash over him.

"What did you do?" asked Michael tentatively. Truth be told he was a little nervous that he was being punished and if he said too much, asked too much, God might just snuff out his existence with a wayward thought. Michael really didn't want to be snuffed.

"I turned out the lights," said God in a tone that suggested Michael's question had been beyond stupid.

"Okay, I deserved that," he said, "But why?"

"So that I could create my playroom."

"Where are the others?"

"They're here," said God.

Michael wondered how he was keeping them silent and then decided that he really didn't want to know. "So what now?"

"Now I get to say this," God's voice suddenly grew louder, enveloping, deafening, and Michael brought his hands up to his ears to cover them. He had only a moment to realize that he even hand hands to cover his ears before God bellowed:

"_Let there be light_!"


	3. 3 It's Only a Model

**3**

**It's only a Model**

"_Let there be light_!"

The lights obeyed God's command. Michael looked around. Nothing had changed.

"Well, that was kind of anticlimactic, wasn't it?" asked Michael aloud to no one in particular. The clouds were still billowy and purple. The Cherubim were still zipping around like maniacs and the Seraphim had restarted their song. Was it a little slower maybe? Not quite as manic? Almost tolerable, even? He listened hard for a moment and decided that no, it still made him wish he had never been created.  
"It is not anticlimactic," said God. His tone was huffy and a huffy God was not a pleasant God.  
Michael turned around to address the orchestrator of these miracles and saw that he had been wrong. A lot had changed. For starters, God now looked like Sataniel, only new and improved and slightly more radiant than the original. It was like comparing a small, distant star to one that was a little larger and closer. The difference was there, just not overtly so.

The sudden and striking resemblance was not lost Sataniel, who approached God and said with an easy, wondering smile, "Dude. You totally look like me!" Sataniel's speech was slow, as if he had a hard time forming the words with his mouth and tongue. His voice was somewhat raspy, too. Michael hoped that that little flaw would fade with time because if not it lent the slightest imperfection to his otherwise perfect beauty.  
God just smiled radiantly, if not a little smugly, and shook his head. "No, my child. I look like me and you look like you. Your nose has changed."  
"You changed my nose?" asked Sataniel in a sudden panic. His hands flew to his face and immediately started examining his nose, followed by a not-so-delicate but thorough exploration of his cheeks, eyelids, and forehead.

"Why would you do that?" he asked between lips that he was pinching together as if to test their remaining plumpness.  
Over God's left shoulder Michael saw that the other angels had realized that they were now all man-shaped. He watched them group together and start comparing body parts, hair color, wing color and size and shape, vocal ranges. Some of them could sing, while some would do well to stay out of a heavenly choir. Michael made some mental notes. Heaven could do with some real music to combat the demented shrieking of the Seraphim. Maybe one of these new angels would have a gift for music and could at least write them some new words for their song.  
God announced, "I decided that Michael was right, which of course means that I was right since he is, after all, only an extension of my being."

This is ridiculous, Michael thought, frowning. But God didn't seem to notice Michael's disapproval. Or if he did notice he didn't care because he continued with his convoluted explanation despite Michael's constant and very conspicuous eye rolling.

"And since he is the one who is like me, and he is my first creation, if he thinks you are perfection then you are. And if you are perfection and I am God, then that means that I should be perfect, so I should take your man-shape as my own. And if I am perfection then you cannot be. Hence, the change in noses. I'm sure you understand."  
Sataniel scowled in utter confusion as he tried to wrap his mind around God's words. Michael put an arm across his brother's shoulders and steered him away from God. "It's okay. You get used to it. Trust me."  
"But my nose . . ." lamented Sataniel, still pinching and twisting the new, slightly larger nose that God had bequeathed unto Sataniel's face.

"Look at it this way: you hadn't had it for very long. And since God created it, isn't it his nose anyway?"  
Sataniel nodded and finally dropped his hand. His nose and various parts of his face were now blotchy and red from all of his poking and prodding. "I see. The lord giveth the nose, and the lord taketh it away."  
"Watch it," said Michael.  
"What?"  
"He gets testy when you call him the Lord. Stick with God. It's just easier, trust me."  
"Got it. But tell me, how does the new one look?"  
Michael said honestly, "Beautiful. You are still a work of art. All of us are. God did a magnificent job on us."  
Sataniel smiled, apparently satisfied with Michael's answer. Then he ruffled Michael's hair and said, "Sorry God made you a ginger, dude," and went to join the others. They immediately surrounded him and welcomed him into their group, touching his hair, his arms, his wings . . . Wait, were they smelling him? Okay yes, it appeared that they were smelling him as part of some kind of bizarre acceptance ritual. Michael stifled a little pang of jealousy that he had not been invited into the group. And he sensed that he would not be entirely welcome if he approached them on his own. Not that he particularly relished the thought of having his brothers rub their noses all over him but he would have put up with it if it meant that he belonged.

Oh well, he told himself, I only talked God into giving them useful bodies, which wasn't much if one preferred to spend the rest of the eternity as a hairy thing with a spear on your head or a tiny flying thing that could be easily crushed. And what in God's name was a ginger?

As if he had been reading Michael's mind, which, in all likelihood he probably had been, God said softly, "You are my first creation, Michael, and he who is most like me, except that you are a ginger. But you have your own path to follow. Do not lament what you do not have. Rather, rejoice in what you do have."

"What's a ginger?"

"You have orange hair."

"I see," said Michael, though he didn't really. What did it matter if his hair was orange? His brothers each had hair that was unique to them: silver, gold, black or brown. And each had his own unique skin tone and wing color. So what if he was a ginger?

"Trust me," said God, "It will matter eventually. But for now just tell me if you understand what I just said about lamenting and rejoicing?"

Michael lifted a brow in God's direction. "Yes, I understand. Surprisingly, it made a lot of sense."

"Don't get used to it," said God flatly. "So, I already know you think that I am beautiful. And you would be right. But you have yet to take stock of the bounties that I have given unto you. Tell me, my child, aside from your hair color do you like the body that I have created for you?"

Michael looked wistfully at his brothers, momentarily wishing that they would be the ones to appraise his new form, but they were completely absorbed in testing out their new wings and they weren't paying him any mind at all. God was right; he was on his own.

To begin with Michael looked at his hands. They were broad and smooth and looked strong, powerful. He made a fist and felt the tension flowing from his shoulder, down his arm, and through his hand, and the warm energy that surged through his arm tingled pleasantly.

He tested the rest of his body in much the same way: bending his knees, rolling his ankles, twisting his hips, stretching and turning his body this way and that to test the limitations of his man-shape. To his surprise and pleasure he found that there were few; God had gotten it right at last. That brought him to his wings. It felt both odd and incredible as he stretched them until the tips were high above his head. Michael peered around a fringe of yellowed feathers to look at God, who was watching Michael's self-exploration with great interest.

"May I?" Michael asked, his voice taut with excitement. He was finally going to get to fly, to _really_ fly, and it would be with his brothers.

"Of course," said God, "That's why I gave them to you. And anything has got to be better than that ridiculous little dance you were just performing."

Michael bristled. "I was testing out the body that you gave me."

"You still looked ridiculous."

Instead of saying something he would regret Michael channeled his frustration into his wings and brought them down with such force that his feet actually lifted off of the ground. I'm flying, he thought as he brought his wings up and beat them down again. And again. And again. He lifted higher and higher into the air and as he went his smile grew wider and wider.

He was flying. And it was amazing. Incredible. Unbelievable.

Until he wanted to turn.

He realized too late that he had absolutely no idea how to maneuver his body through the air. When he turned to the right and tried to fly toward his where his brothers were spinning and twirling around each other above the clouds he lost control. One of his wings folded at an awkward angle and he went down. He landed in a heap in a cloudbank and struggled to his feet on the puffy mound. His mouth was full of cloud and it tasted cold and incredibly sweet. Ah, this Heaven place was full of surprises.

Michael finally regained his footing. Wayward bits of cloud clung to his arms, legs and head and he brushed them off with angry hands.

"That was graceful," said God. "Come to me, my child."

Michael flicked the last bit of cloud from his fingertips in irritation and looked up to see God sitting on a raised cloudbank. He was staring intently at something cupped in his left palm but Michael was more intrigued by the fact that God's achingly beautiful, reflective wings were gone.

"What happened to your wings?" Michael asked as he approached God.

"I un-created them when you looked so silly trying to fly. It would be foolish for God to create something that will not be used. And I cannot use them because God cannot look as ridiculous as you just did flailing about in the air like an epileptic zeppelin—"

"A what?"

"Doesn't matter," said God, "At any rate I have decided that God does not need wings. Now come here. I want to show you something."

Michael came closer and peered into God's palm, fully expecting God to be playing a prank and suddenly throw some gross, partially created bit of goo into his face. But God didn't make any sudden moves, only sat very still, his eyes focused on the small, glowing object floating just above his palm.

The object was about the size of Michael's fist and appeared to be comprised of a large, oval-shaped central area with five smaller, vaguely oval-shaped appendages sticking out of it. Michael jumped when he realized that some of the appendages were moving.

"What is it?" he asked, fascinated yet repulsed by the ultra-slow undulations of the thing in God's palm. It just didn't look right to him. What was God up to?

"It's a turtle," God said in a tone of voice that implied he was mentally adding the word "idiot" to the end of his statement.

"Ok," said Michael, and then he paused to try to find the words to the question that would get God to actually give him a straight answer. When he finally thought he had it under control he asked, "It's very cute, but what is this turtle doing in your palm?"

This time God looked up and gave Michael the full force of the stare that said, "You're a moron," but did not speak.

"You do know that that mind reading thing only works one-way right? You created me so you can see everything in my heart and my soul, but I don't know everything in yours. When you learn things I learn them as well but when it comes to your creations I have no access to your thoughts. I cannot predict what you will create or how you will create it."

"We should talk to the I-T department about that."

"What? What is the I-T department?"

God gave Michael a secretive smile and said, "Nevermind." Michael swallowed the secret urge to punch God in his smug, beautiful face.

"I will never condone violence as a solution to a problem, my son," God said. Michael bowed his head and was about to apologize when God added, "Unless it's really funny."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Can you please answer my question?"

"Which was?"

"Why do you have a turtle in your palm?"

"Whoa! That's a turtle?" asked Sataniel, who suddenly appeared beside Michael, unannounced and uninvited. "Way cool."

Michael felt his patience wearing thin. Now that God had an audience who knew what he was going to do to entertain them. "Where are the others?"

"Playing tag with the Cherubim," said Sataniel.

"Great. Well, maybe you can get an answer out of God because I've got nothing," Michael said to Sataniel. He did not have high hopes.

"Don't be upset, Michael," said God, "You suggested that I create a playroom for myself. This is my playroom."

Michael frowned at the miniature creature in God's hand and then winced because he knew he had to say something. He did not necessarily enjoy robbing God of his "ideas" but if he didn't then they'd likely all be dolphins and then they would miss out on this really neat opposable thumbs thing they had going on now. Here goes nothing, Michael thought.

"Ok . . . Well, I hate to say this, but it's not very practical. Anything that you create could only live in the big rounded part in the middle because the rest of the appendages are moving. That may not give you enough space to really be . . . creative."

"I see your point," God said. He stared hard at the little floating turtle as if willing it to take some other, more practical shape but it continued to just float in the air above God's palm, its limbs moving so slowly, so rhythmically, that it was mesmerizing. Michael suddenly understood why God had been so fixated on the little creature when he had first approached him; he was hypnotized.

"I know!" shouted Sataniel and Michael jumped. God didn't move, probably because he had known the exclamation was coming. "What if you made it into some sort of disc-like, soft and squishy, bluish-colored, roundish sort of shape?"

God suddenly perked up. "Ok. We can try that. How about this?"

God waved his other hand over the turtle and it collapsed into itself and reformed into a small, hazy, blue-colored sphere. It didn't appear to be solid or have any specifically defined edges, but it was definitely a thing.

"What is it?" asked Sataniel, his nose almost touching the sphere. "It smells wet. Kind of salty, too."

"It is my playroom. Michael, now do you approve?"

"It's doesn't seem quite finished."

"Don't worry. We have time for that."

"Okay . . . don't you think it's a little small?" Michael asked.

"It's only a model," said God.

"A model for what?" asked Sataniel.

And with that God swept his arm dramatically to the side and the clouds responded to the gesture by parting right at Michael and Sataniel's feet. Far below them floated a much, much larger version of the blue sphere that God held in his hand.

"It is good?" God asked.

Michael looked into God's hopeful, knowing eyes, and said, "Yeah, it's good."

"Wonderful!" said God. "Now check this out." He twirled his index finger over the ball and it began to rotate.

Michael peered through the hole in the clouds at the larger sphere, hoping to see it turning as well but he couldn't discern any movement. Did God make a mistake? "It's not working," he said.

"Maybe you should call the I-T department," said God and Sataniel started laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Michael, "Do you know what the I-T department is?" He could feel himself growing irritated at being left out of the loop once again.

"No way," said Sataniel, still chuckling, "It just sounds so funny. Listen, listen: Eeeeyeeee Teeeeee."

"Oh, Nevermind," said Michael. "I hope you know that you're both insane."

Sataniel tossed his head and flipped his long hair out of his face. "No we're not, man. We just don't take ourselves so seriously. You should try it some time."

Michael was at a loss. turned to God and shouted, "God!"

"I was only kidding, my child. Of course you can't see the big planet rotating. It is simply too big. I did not make a mistake. God does not make mistakes."

"Whatever," said Michael. He refused to be placated. But at the same time he knew that this could not go on indefinitely. God needed a focus and at the moment Michael was desperate that God find some focus that did not involve him, his sleeping or eating habits, or his awkwardness in this new body.

"So what do you want to create first?" Michael asked.

God glanced at his little blue model, then at Michael, and then finally at Sataniel. Then he said to both of them, "Get me your brothers. I have tasks for them."

"Sure thing," said Sataniel and he took off with grace and control and flew off to find the others.

Once he was gone Michael asked, "So do you know what you're going to do? That looks like the perfect place for the dolphins you love so much."

God smiled a slightly insane smile at Michael as if Michael were an idiot. Michael was really starting to hate that smile. Then God said, "Oh, I think we've moved beyond dolphins."


	4. 4 Mikey Likes It

**4**

**Mikey Likes It**

The angels were assembled more-or-less into a line with Michael and God facing them, appraising the situation. Michael was trying to figure out exactly what task God wanted this motley crew to complete and doubted that any of them would get very far without divine intervention. The four Cherubim crouched like animals at the end of the line and the four faceless Seraphim stood beside them, blessedly silent for once. The Archangels were still much taken with their new forms and were touching and jostling each other, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

Sataniel stood among them, easily the most stunning of all of God's creations thus far. He wasn't taller than the Seraphim, who towered over all of the others, and they all shone with God's brilliant light, but Sataniel stood out, for whatever reason. And though Michael could have been jealous over the fact that God had made him a ginger, though he still didn't understand what was wrong with having red hair. And he could have been jealous that Sataniel was so beautiful. But Michael found that all attempts at envy were doomed because, all things aside, Sataniel was kind of nice. It wasn't his fault that God had bestowed such beauty upon him.

They stood that way for a long time and God still had yet to look directly at his angels. He appeared to find the clouds and the cosmos much more interesting than presiding over a meeting he himself had called.

After a long time, when it appeared that God had lost interest in the whole "let's line up the angels and dole out tasks" thing, Michael said in his most self-important voice, "My fellow angels . . ."

And then God cut him off, choosing that moment to start paying attention. "I'll take it from here, Mike," he said.

Michael bristled at the nickname, even more so when God continued, calling all of the other angels by their full names.

"Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel, Sariel, Sataniel-you are my Archangels and to you I will bequeath certain gifts and assign certain tasks, not necessarily in that order."

God moved on. "My Cherubim: Jophiel, Raziel, Kerubiel, Uzziel. Just keep doing what you are doing. Praise me, protect me, sit at my feet and continue to make me look good just by being around."

"You got it, sir," the Cherubim said in unison.

The Cherubim may be simple-minded, thought Michael, but at least they're cohesive in their simple-mindedness.

"Cammuel, Samael, Jehoel, Kemeul, my Seraphim, my singers," said God,"This day you shall add more voices to your heavenly choir. My fervent hope is that they will make you guys less of an auditory train wreck."

"What's a train wreck?" asked Cammuel in a muffled, squeaky voice that issued from behind the pair of wings that covered his face.

"That's for me to know and you to find out in a really, really long time," answered God.

Michael couldn't tell because of those stupid, face-covering wings but he imagined that Cammuel's face fell at God's words and that thought made him a little happy. He hid a smile behind his hand but it did not escape God's notice.

Without turning around God said, "Schadenfreude is not a divine practice, Michael."

"OK, now I think you're just making words up," said Michael with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, I am. But that's beside the point. Get in line with your brothers. You are an Archangel and you shall have a task as well."

Michael stepped into line beside Remiel. "Hey," Michael said.

"Hey," said Remiel, tossing his shoulder-length silver hair and leveling his dark blue eyes at Michael. Then all at once Remiel leaned over and sniffed Michael's bare shoulder.

As much as he had pined for such contact from his brothers before, Michael now realized that it was gross to have another angel's nostrils touching his skin. Michael raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

Remiel tossed him a mocking smile, shrugged, and turned back to God without saying another word. Michael imagined the other angels were also stifling giggles at his expense. God was wrong. Michael knew he would never really be one of them.

If God knew what was in Michael's head at that moment he showed no sign as he moved on to discuss the task and the fate of the Seraphim. "Seraphim, please meet your new siblings, the twins, Sandalphon and Metatron."

God gestured for all of them to turn around and when they did they were treated to the sight of two enormous and terrifying beings. They were so large that even the Seraphim only stood as high as the ankles of their new siblings. Sandalphon and Metatron had rough skin, powerful legs, and large bellies flanked by a pair of tiny arms. Worst of all were their heads. They were huge, bony and split by mouths filled with rows and rows of incredibly sharp-looking teeth. Instead of wings they had long, thick tails that wagged back and forth in excitement when they noticed everyone looking at them. If God had been going for something to rival the shock-value of the Cherubim, he had a winner.

"Did you say Megatron?" asked Samael. His voice was deeper than Cammuel's yet still squeaky. No wonder their song sounded so entirely awful, Michael thought.

God smiled, "No. I said, Metatron."

"What are they?" asked Raphael.

"They are more than meets the eye," answered God.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Way to answer the question, God," he muttered.

"No way, dude, he totally did," said Sataniel with an easy grin. He seemed to be unflappable, yet another thing for Michael to envy. "If they're supposed to help the Seraphim with their song then I'll bet they have stellar voices despite their monstrousness. Right, God?"

"Go ahead, guys, hum a few bars," said Michael, trying and failing to keep the condescension from his voice.

Michael could have sworn that Metatron drooled a little as he turned his head towards God, as if asking permission to impress the others with his voice. God nodded. As one the twins opened their toothy mouths and spewed the most awful sounds any of them had ever heard. It sounded as if they were gargling acid, as if they were rivals in a fart sound competition, as if they were warbling teen pop stars who were mere corporate media creations and devoid of any actual talent.

Where did those words come from? Michael wondered. Then he turned and looked at God, who looked incredibly displeased with the outcome of this little venture. Ah, so those were God's thoughts. Michael couldn't begin to understand what they meant but considering how awful the twins sounded he assumed that all of those things God had compared them to were akin to having one's flesh sliced off bit by bit by a flaming sword.

"Stop!" boomed God in his Godliest of voices. It was a voice that made the clouds tremble around them, a voice that made the assembled angels fearful. If God was displeased who knew what he would do?

The sick, roaring gargles ceased and silence settled over heaven. For a moment no one spoke. They all just watched God, whose icy blue eyes darkened as he scowled to himself.

After a few moments God smiled and asked, "Well, what do you think?" All traces of anger had faded from his beautiful face. It made Michael nervous.

"Seriously?" asked Cammuel.

"Do you need to ask?" asked the Cherubim as one.

"I think my ears are bleeding," said Gabriel.

God's smug grin started to fade at that last comment and Michael quickly stepped in to avoid any actual bloodshed. "They are magnificent and terrifying creatures and you have given them many positive attributes. But why did you decide to change things up, appearances-wise? I think the original design for the Seraphim was . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked at the four original Seraphim and tried to think of some way to put a positive spin on the fact that they always had those stupid wings over their faces. "Um, what I mean is . . . Well, it all seemed to be working out. So, why the change?"

"Why not?"

"OK," said Michael, "Good answer." No, it wasn't, but he wasn't about to say that to God. "What do you call this form, then?"

"I call them dinosaurs."

"I see," said Michael. He struggled to find the words that would convey his belief that the twins should not be these gigantic dinosaurs, but roughly angel-sized and angel-shaped instead.

Suddenly Sataniel stepped forward and said, "Well, I think that we can all agree that they are super cool. I mean, look at those teeny arms on those great big bodies. Too funny, God. But I also think we can all agree that if your aim was to fill in the blanks in the heavenly choir, these guys lack the pipes."

Sataniel looked over at Michael and winked and Michael was too shocked to respond. Sataniel wasn't a bad guy. And he apparently wasn't as simple as Michael had previously thought, either. In fact, all of his fellow Archangels seemed to have relatively normal heads on their shoulders. Sure, they liked to sniff each other occasionally, but other than that Michael couldn't see anything wrong with them, though he warned himself that before he got all warm and fuzzy toward them he should probably spend a little time getting to know them. He made a mental note to attempt such a thing soon. But at the moment there was still the issue of God and the dinosaurs to deal with and for once Michael didn't feel as if he were on his own against His Divine Pain-in-the-Ass-ness. It was nice.

"Do the rest of you feel this way?" God asked of the angels.

"Please don't ask them to sing again," said Gabriel, "The Seraphim are bad enough without adding those voices into the mix."

Michael stifled a smile at Gabriel's forwardness.

"Yes," said Raphael, "I concur that their voices leave a lot to be desired."

Okay, thought Michael, a little stilted but still, at least Raphael had spoken up.

God nodded to himself as if he had just ceded a point in his own mind and said, "Okay. I give. Everyone close your eyes."

Michael closed his eyes and God immediately commanded, "Now open your eyes!"

Michael opened his eyes and the dinosaurs were gone. In their places stood two very tall, vaguely man-shaped beings. They were a little taller than the other Seraphim. One was violently bright, so bright that Michael couldn't even look directly at him. The other looked as if it were clothed in a robe made of pure nothingness. It was a shapely figure, that much he could tell as long as he kept his eyes just to the right of it, but if he looked directly at it, it disappeared. He wasn't so sure that this was a better choice than the dinosaurs.

"Whoa, cool," said Sataniel. "It's like they're there but they're not."

"What's happening?" asked one of the Seraphim. They were pretty much interchangeable so Michael didn't bother to care who was actually doing the speaking. "We can't see."

"One of them is now light and one is dark. It's a little disturbing," Michael said offhandedly. He turned to God, "So now that we can't look at one and can only see the other when we're not looking at him—"

"Her," God cut Michael off.

"What? What's a her?" Michael asked. Suddenly his mind was filled with images of soft flesh, curves in places where the other angels had angles, alluring voices. Well, more alluring than the voices of the other angels already were, at any rate. "Oh my," said Michael and the excited tone of his own voice surprised him.

"Exactly," said God.

"So why is he covered up and the rest of us are not?"

"She."

"Fine, she. But why?"

God shrugged. "She's just a prototype. I haven't quite figured out the face yet so I'm keeping her covered until I do."

He turned to the other angels, "All right, now let's get down to business. I assembled you here to put you to work. A busy angel is a happy angel and you can't spend eternity playing tag, now can you?"

The angels shook their heads, some more convincingly than others.

"Remiel. My new world needs to have creatures to inhabit the waters. You will create them. I get final approval, of course, and I recommend that you start small and work your way up."

Remiel beamed. "How about I create a small creature that over time can change, or evolve, into a larger creature."

God clapped Remiel on the back. "Whatever floats your boat. Although when you get to the dinosaurs I'd like you to come see me because I have some ideas about them.

"Okay, moving on . . . to . . . Uriel. Work with Remiel to make the creatures that shall inhabit the land. Perhaps you can even follow Remiel's idea and have them grow out of Remiel's evolving creatures. Could be fun. And the same goes for you: when you come to a place where the dinosaurs can fit into the evolutionary table please come see me."

"Gabriel and Raphael, my myriad creatures will need things to eat besides each other. Create things that are green and gold and red and purple and even invent new colors if you feel the need. Create things both large and small that will grow from the land both above and below the seas. Create things that are sweet and edible and those that are not edible but which are beautiful. Make my world lush and green."

"As our God wishes, so shall it be," they said in unison.

"Raguel and Sariel, your job is to watch over the others and make sure that they keep on task. Come to me if you notice any shenanigans and I may even let you help me fashion the punishment."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" they said with far too much enthusiasm. Michael got the feeling they might be a little on the sadistic side and made a note to steer clear of them whenever possible. He got the feeling the other angels were thinking the same thing.

"Don't ever call me that again or I shall think up a suitable punishment for you on my own. It will probably involve singing dinosaurs."

"Noted," they said.

"Seraphim, go and practice a new song. The old one was getting tired. And take Sandalphon with you. I promise you that she has a voice that will make yours better just by association. Cherubim, go back to my throne and sit around it and try to look busy or something. I'll be along shortly. Archangels, go to your tasks. Do not disappoint me."

The angels cleared out in different directions, leaving only God, Michael, and Sataniel behind.

"So what is our task supposed to be?" Michael asked. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to be worthy of God's light and love, even if God was sometimes a jerk.

"Yeah," said Sataniel, "Do you need us to help you with the world itself? Because I think we would totally rock that task."

"No, I already have that part covered. Would you like to see?" God asked.

"Of course," Michael said.

"Yeah," said Sataniel.

God clasped his hands in front of him and when his palms separated the small blue model of the world hung suspended between them, exactly as it had been the last time he showed it to them.

"That will never get old," said Sataniel in awe. In fact, Sataniel always sounded like he was in awe of whatever was going on, as if the universe were a pleasant surprise created solely for him. It was odd and endearing at the same time.

"If you like that, then watch this." God wiggled his fingers and before their eyes the hazy blue ball began to solidify until it had clearly defined edges. Different shades of blue churned across its surface in a hypnotic fashion.

"What does it mean?" Michael asked.

"I just created the oceans and the atmosphere."

"What's an atmosphere?" asked Sataniel.

"Something for my creatures to breathe. They won't be angelic. They'd die without an atmosphere. And in the millennia to come they will destroy it bit by bit, killing themselves so slowly that by the time they notice it will be too late. But that's another story altogether. For now it is perfect."

"Great," said Michael, "So what next?"

"Nothing," God said. He brought his palms together and the little water world disappeared between them. A moment later Michael and Sataniel were nearly blinded as Metatron approached them.

"You called me, my Lord," said Metatron in a voice that was so beautiful it made Michael's skin tingle and his chest resonate.

"I did, my son. I have a task for you."

"Wait a minute," said Michael as he snapped out of the pacifying spell of Metatron's voice, "How come he gets to call you Lord and every time I do it you smack me down like a . . . like a . . ." he fumbled for the words to convey his frustration but couldn't find them.

Sataniel stepped in to fill the space. "Like a red-headed, freckled step-child?" And then he laughed and held up his palm up and God slapped it with his own palm. "Thanks, God."

Michael couldn't believe that that had just happened, and after they had stood on the same side against God's particular brand of insanity. He opened his mouth to launch a verbal assault on Sataniel for being so rude but God beat him to it.

"You take everything so seriously. I really just wanted to hear what it sounded like coming from his throat as opposed to yours. As a matter of fact, I kind of like it coming from him. You, however, still can't call me 'Lord'."

"Whatever. So what's Metatron's job?"

"If he is going to be my voice we need to work out a few kinks."

"Your voice?" Sataniel asked, suddenly confused, "But you have a voice already. Aren't you talking to us right now? Or are we just imagining that you're talking to us? Maybe we're imagining all of this!" His eyes were wide.

"Great, you just broke Sataniel," muttered Michael.

"He'll be fine. Not that I have to explain anything to you and not that you would understand even if I did explain, because my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts . . ."

"That is so deep," said Sataniel in wonder.

God continued, "But I will eventually need a voice for though you can speak with me and hear my voice, the creatures on my world may not be capable of hearing my voice without their heads exploding. And also, I'm God, so I think I'm entitled to a PR person."

Michael refused to take the bait and asked instead, "Why not just make their heads stronger?"

"It's all theoretical mumbo-jumbo at this point. Besides, I'm no the one who will be doing the designing. You will."

Michael felt all of the frustration run out of him as he grasped the implications of the task to which he was being set. "Do you mean . . ." he started but couldn't get the words out.

"Yes, my son, I need you to design my most sentient creature: man. I have given you a blueprint in the angels, so you already have a strong base upon which to build. But more than that, I need you to design a face for Sandalphon. I have showed you what her form should be, now I need a beautiful face to match the rest."

"It will be an honor," whispered Michael.

"And you shall work together with Sataniel to design the most breathtaking, the most perfect of all of my creations."

"No offense, but if we're designing it won't it be our creation?" Sataniel asked, suddenly returning to the conversation.

"I made you. You will design them. I will form them. It all comes from me no matter how you slice it. Now get to work and make me proud." God turned and started to walk away. Metatron followed close behind him.

"What are you going to be doing while the rest of us toil in obscurity?" Michael called after God.

God answered without bothering to turn around. "Relaxing, of course, I've had an exhausting day, what with creating atmospheres and such."

"Nice," said Michael. He turned to Sataniel, who looked just as eager to begin their task as Michael was. "Come on, I guess let's go find Sandalphon just to get an idea of where to start."

As they walked off across the clouds in search of the Seraphim that one could only see when one wasn't looking at her, Sataniel said, "You know that thing I said about the red-headed, freckled step-child?"

"Yes."

"You know God put that in my head and made me say that, right?"

"I know," said Michael, "He's kind of a jerk like that."

"Yeah man, I gotta say I hate the way he treats you sometimes. Even if it is funny to the rest of us, it's not right."

Wow, thought Michael. Once again Sataniel was proving to be more than just a beautiful idiot, and Michael was touched by the sentiment. "Thanks, brother."

"No problem. What are brothers for? Now let's go design us a babe."

"Shall we wear bras on our heads?" The words escaped Michael's mouth before his brain even had time to comprehend them, which could only mean that God was in his head again and sending him thoughts he didn't understand.

"What's a bra, bro?"

"I really have no idea," said Michael, "Nevermind. How are we supposed to find Sandalphon when she's all but invisible when you look for her?"

"I don't know. Wait! How about we close our eyes. That way we're not looking for her and maybe we'll just bump into her somehow." And then Sataniel did just that. He clamped his eyes shut and stuck out his hands as if to feel his way around and then promptly disappeared into a column of clouds.

Michael sighed and followed Sataniel into the cloud formation to try to keep the strangely daft, oddly intelligent angel from injuring himself. "This is going to be a long eternity."


	5. 5 Sweet Child O'Mine

**5**

**Sweet Child O'Mine**

Heaven became a makeshift science lab as all of the angels set about their tasks. God had been very generous when it came to giving the angels everything they asked for in pursuit of their designs. Now various instruments of experimentation were lined up along numerous tables made of reinforced thundercloud but it had all started with paper. Reams and reams of paper, sharp quills with long white feathers and deep wells of ink in which to dip them. There was no small amount of insanity as the angels got down to business and squabbled over who were the better artists. Quills were broken in the ensuing scuffles, inkwells smashed and feelings hurt.

Michael and Sataniel's search for Sandalphon was halted when they passed by Remiel and Uriel's workstation. For some reason they could not deduce Remiel had stolen Uriel's clay model of some sort of ridiculous-looking, long-necked animal and was holding it above his head while the diminutive Uriel jumped beneath him and tried to grab it.

"Give it back! It's not yours!" whined Uriel as he jumped up ineffectually and swiped at Remiel's upraised hand.

Remiel laughed and said, "This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. How will it walk on those spindly legs? And that neck? Absolutely absurd. I refuse to create any creatures that will evolve into _this_."

"This isn't good, is it?" asked Sataniel as he and Michael stopped to watch the commotion.

"Should we remind Uriel that he has wings?" asked Michael.

"No way. This is way too funny."

Michael made note of the smile on Sataniel's face but did not share his opinion. In his mind the petty squabbles of the angels just made all of them look bad.

"Remiel, you're being mean!" shouted Uriel.

"Who is being mean?" Raguel and Sariel landed beside Remiel and Uriel respectively. Michael didn't know which one of the two enforcer angels had spoken but it didn't really matter.

"Remiel stole my giraffe," said Uriel.

"Is this true?" asked Raguel. "Theft is not a divine practice."

Michael rolled his eyes and Sataniel muttered, "Well, we know now who drank the Jesus juice." Michael raised an eyebrow at Sataniel's choice of words but didn't even have to ask before Sataniel shook his head in exasperation. "Don't ask me, man. God's in my head again. I hate it when he does that."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"Remiel," said Raquel, "Thou art being a dickhead." Shock caused Remiel to lower his hand long enough for Uriel to grasp his little model and wrench it out of his partner's hand.

"I got it!" said Uriel triumphantly.

"Don't be so quick to rejoice," said Sariel. "Uriel, though art being a wuss."

"What?" asked Uriel, his voice jumping several octaves in the process.

"What is with this 'thou art' stuff?" asked Sataniel suddenly, "It's way silly."

Sariel shrugged. "We've just been trying some stuff out. No good, huh?"

"No good, dude."

Raguel tapped Sariel on the shoulder and announced, "Well, back to the drawing board then. Good day, sirs."

And then they were gone.

Remiel and Uriel had already returned to their stations, their shoulders a little hunched after being chastised by the enforcer angels, so Michael and Sataniel continued their quest for Sandalphon. But after a few more minutes of searching in vain, "You want to go see God and ask for guidance in this?"

"Why not?" came the noncommittal answer.

Michael and Sataniel approached God's throne cautiously just as Gabriel and Raphael left, their arms loaded with boxes of God's newly created scientific junk, including large tanks and burners for the gas contained within those tanks. They had matching sneaky grins on their faces and overall looked very pleased with themselves.

"Did you even pay attention to what they were asking before you waved your hand and granted them whatever they wanted?" Michael asked God as he and Sataniel arrived at the foot of God's throne. One of the Cherubim growled at Michael and Sataniel gave it a not-so-soft tap with his foot. It whimpered but took no other aggressive action. However, Michael could feel the creature's million eyes boring holes into his chin from its perch at God's feet. He wondered why the Cherubim seemed to only have animosity towards him when Sataniel was the one that had kicked it. Instead of asking the creature why, he asked God, "Don't you want to know why they asked for it?"

"I created them, Michael. Never forget that. I know that Gabriel and Raphael used up all of the gas and destroyed their previous burners because they kept finding random things to set on fire. And when they ran out of things they used the powers of creation I had granted them to create more things to set on fire. They're a couple of pyros, those two, but there are good ideas locked in their minds.

"I also know that Remiel and Uriel have a thousand drawings and models for the animals but have yet to make any actual prototypes because they are too indecisive. I even inserted all of my dinosaur ideas into their heads and they have yet to even reach that point.

"And I know that you can't find Sandalphon and since you set this as your first task and you have not completed it you cannot move past it."

Michael looked at his perfect, pale, angelic feet and kicked a tuft of cloud. "I just thought it would be a great jumping off point."

"Sataniel," said God, turning his attention on the angel with the the vacant stare, "What do you think about Michael's plan? Do you have any say in this? You are a team, you know?"

Sataniel answered slowly, as if he wasn't certain how to answer God's question because he hadn't been paying attention. "Well, God, I can see his point, of course. But I also wish I were able to start in my own head. But you only gave Michael a vision of Sandalphon's body and so I don't know where to st . . ." Sataniel's voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over.

"Whoa," said Sataniel, "She's so soft, so round. So very not like us . . . I'm in love . . ."

At the word "love" Michael snapped to attention and quickly asked, "You mean 'love' as in 'Divine Love,' right?"

Sataniel slowly rose out of his reverie and looked at Michael, then at God, and then grinned. Michael looked at God and saw that he also wore a huge smile on his face.

"Dude," said Sataniel.

"I did good, right?" asked God in a tone that suggested that he knew exactly how well he had done.

"I would love to fill her with _divine love_, if you know what I mean," Sataniel answered.

Michael felt the surprise leap to his face unbidden and struggled to suppress it. He was not surprised that Sataniel had had those thoughts because those same urges had tormented Michael ever since God had showed him the mental image of Sandalphon's body. But he wasn't entirely certain that they were supposed to be thinking such things and he felt certain that they weren't supposed to be announcing those thoughts to God, of all people.

"Give it up, God," Sataniel said as he held his hand up for God to smack it. But the smile had dropped from God's face and He did not move to smack the proffered palm. After a moment Sataniel added, "God. Dude. Don't leave me hanging," but the cock-sureness was gone from his voice. In fact, it was the first time Michael had seen him as anything other than the picture of confidence.

"God?" Sataniel asked in a small, almost whiny voice.

God continued to glare at the mouthy angel before him. Michael sensed impending violence again and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to diffuse the situation but God cut him off.

"And how exactly do you propose you will 'fill her with Divine love'?" God's voice was dark, threatening retribution. And then all of a sudden he grinned. The gesture was not happy, but menacing, and Michael wondered what was coming next.

"Do you think you could satisfy her with that?" God asked Sataniel and pointed at the junction where Sataniel's legs met his torso.

Sataniel looked down at the smooth expanse of skin there and for the first time in his life felt inadequate, incomplete. He looked over at Michael and saw the same thing: just a vast expanse of pale flesh. Then he looked at God's crotch in a panic but God was suddenly wearing a flowing white robe that covered everything from his neck down.

"What's under the robe, God?" Sataniel asked.

Michael turned to God as well. He was also feeling newly insufficient and wanted an explanation. "Yeah, you've never covered yourself before."

God smiled and said, "Your conversation made me realize exactly what you could do to fill Sandalphon with 'divine love' as you put it. So I thought I'd test it out, give it a whirl, you know, run it up the flag pole and see who salutes."

"What?" asked Michael and Sataniel, finding unity in their utter confusion.

"And guess what? It's me! I just saluted," God said with a wide and condescending smile.

God appeared far too pleased with himself and even though Michael didn't know what God was talking about he felt jealousy fare hotly within him.

"Jealousy is not—" God began but Sataniel cut him off.

"A divine practice. Hey, I'm getting good at this game. Or maybe you're just getting predictable."

Michael stifled a smile but not before God noticed it. He didn't say anything but Michael knew that God would likely use it against him someday. Though he desperately wanted to know exactly how God had chosen to modify himself, instead Michael asked, "So, what is our timeframe? Now that Sataniel has seen Sandalphon's body we can just get started on the face. Do you have any guidance for us?" Michael had discovered in the time since his creation that appealing to God's enormous ego was always a good idea.

God smiled and closed his eyes. "Yes," he said, "Make her as beautiful on the outside as I will make her beautiful on the inside."

Once again Michael felt that God was speaking in riddles. But instead of pointing out God's great and powerful insanity he said, "Great, God. Thanks. We'll just be going now."

"Yeah," echoed Sataniel, though Michael was fairly certain he had stopped paying attention to the conversation a while ago. Sataniel shook his shaggy blonde head as if trying to knock some sense into it and asked, "So, once we slap a face on Sandalphon you'll be sending her down to your little world to play?"

And then God bellowed with laughter. It would have been an awesome, awe-inspiring and joy-inducing sound if it hadn't been directed at them. Or if it would have stopped. But God kept laughing until tears cut rivers down his chiseled cheeks and his hands gripped his stomach as if to keep his insides from falling out from all of the guffaws. It was probably the biggest workout his holy abdomen had ever had.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," muttered Michael.

"What did I say?" asked Sataniel.

"You suggested that you were going to go first," said Gabriel as he landed beside Michael. He tossed his long black hair dramatically over his shoulder and then folded his arms across his muscular chest. His enormous black wings shuddered and then folded against his back.

"So what?" asked Sataniel.

"So? So everything, pretty-boy," answered Raphael from the air over their heads. They all looked up to see him floating effortlessly above them with only the slightest quivering in his butter-yellow wings. "If your people went down first what would they eat? How would they survive?"

"I don't know but I'm sure they'd be cool. They'd figure it out," said Sataniel.

"Really? Will they be like dolphins and swim? I mean, the world is still just water."

"Not so fast!" God exclaimed suddenly and they all jumped in surprise to hear him speaking again. "What's this about the world being all water? I told you we had moved past dolphins."

"Um . . . God. Last time I saw it the world was all water," said Michael. "I know you _said_ we were beyond dolphins but—"

"Nonsense," interrupted God with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yeah, nonsense," said one of the Cherubim. Michael couldn't tell which one had spoken but Sataniel threatened to kick the nearest little monster and the thing cowered and took refuge behind the throne.

"You need to work on your temper. You need to become more kind and forgiving, Sataniel," commanded God commanded.

"What? It's not like I actually kicked him," whined Sataniel.

"Thinking is the same as doing, my child," said God.

Sataniel screwed up his face. "Well that just doesn't make sense at all."

"Just go with it," said Michael, grasping Sataniel's arm, "Trust me, it's just easier."

Sataniel turned to Michael and said solemnly, "Someday you will forsake me, Michael, unless you decide to grow a pair. It's up to you."

Before Michael could respond Uriel landed gently on the clouds beside Gabriel and shouted, "For what it's worth, I think God makes sense."

"You are too loud and too shrill, you know that?" asked Sataniel.

"Butt-kisser," muttered Gabriel.

"Name calling is not a divine practice, Gabriel," said God softly and all of the angels stopped and looked reverently at God.

"Yes, Father," said all of the angels in unison. All of the angels, that is, except for Michael and Sataniel, who both rolled their eyes in perfect unison.

"No," said Sataniel suddenly and everyone except God jumped.

"No?" asked God, clearly not pleased by Sataniel's refusal. God glanced at Michael with a question on his face, as if silently asking what Sataniel was so upset about. Michael only shrugged, though he was pleased that for the first time he wasn't going to be the only one standing up to God's insanity.

Sataniel looked into the faces of his brothers as if searching for some spark of life, some sign that they were more than mindless creatures. Michael followed his gaze and felt Sataniel tensing beside him and he understood why. The other angels were different. Michael felt the difference between himself and the others and knew that Sataniel could feel it as well. For some reason God had seen fit to give Michael and Sataniel a little something extra. He didn't know what it was, maybe cognizance, self-awareness, self-reliance perhaps? But it set them both apart from the other angels and the difference had never been as apparent as it was now. It was so apparent that even God seemed taken aback. He sat on his throne and just stared, unsmiling, at the angels assembled before him.

"This is bogus," Sataniel blurted out. He gestured to the angels, his arm slicing through the air as more angels arrived to listen to his outburst. "You're all a bunch of sheep."

"What's a sheep?" asked one of the Cherubim.

"I don't know, but it should be white and fluffy like a cloud and it should say, 'Baaaaaa'," said another with a trill in its voice.

"I think it should say 'Mooooo' and be so big no one can move it," said yet another on the other side of God's throne.

Before they could get involved in a more detailed discussion about these sheep things Sataniel commanded, "Shut it. You guys aren't much better."

"That wasn't very nice," said God with a pout.

Sataniel turned on God, fire in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. "You are using us. You don't have the brainpower to design your world and so you are using us to do it and then you'll take credit for everything."

Michael winced and squeezed Sataniel's arm even tighter. Amid whispers from the other angels commenting on Sataniel's rash behavior and possible punishment, Michael said, "And on that note, we'll be getting back to work." He tried to pull Sataniel away but Sataniel yanked his arm out of Michael's grasp.

"No, Michael, don't you oppress me, too." Then he turned back towards God and even took one step toward the throne.

Michael was thrown as much by the change in Sataniel's vocabulary as by the energy that radiated from Sataniel's body in waves. Michael doubted that Sataniel even knew it was happening but if he could feel it he bet the others could too, including God. The strange thing was that it was reminiscent of the power that emanated from God when he got upset. It was of a different quality, sharper, perhaps.

"God," Sataniel spat, "I dare you to deny it."

The assembled angels fell silent. Michael became aware that others had joined the group. The Seraphim had landed behind the archangels and Sariel and Raguel stood gingerly on clouds at the edge of the group, prepared to spring into action should Sataniel try to do the unthinkable, like attack God. Even Sandalphon and Metatron had arrived. Michael knew Sandalphon was there because he could see her only when he looked at Metatron. He resolved to talk to her once this was all sorted out.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath and waiting for God to respond to these accusations. They weren't so outlandish, Michael thought. Sataniel was spot on in his assessment of the situation. But Michael certainly wasn't about to say such a thing to God, which at the moment looked as if God had just eaten something very sour.

"Well?" asked Sataniel.

God spoke softly, his voice full of suppressed anger. "In a way what you say it true. But I created you. I created all of you. And so you are my playthings to do with as I please. Every movement of your body is because I wish it. Every thought in your head has its origins in me. I am your Creator. I am your God. I am your Lord. And I can end you just as quickly as I made you so you had better back off because I think you are biting off more than you can chew."

All heads volleyed back to Sataniel to see his response. Sataniel stood still, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his wings twitching occasionally, his mouth drawn into a line. After a long time he turned his back on God and addressed the other angels.

"Then I'll appeal to you, my bros. Don't you see that he's just using you?" They did not answer, though some looked away. He continued, "Doesn't it bug you that you'll do all of the work and get none of the credit? How can you not see how completely arbitrary God is? We are at the mercy of a maniac, people. And it's time to take our lives back. So, my bros, are you with me?"

Again his words were met with tense silence. The angels fidgeted. God remained immobile, not reacting to Sataniel's assertions. When no answers came Sataniel turned to Michael, desperation clear on his face. "Michael, I know that you agree with me. Tell them. Tell them that God is a douche bag."

Michael froze. His cheeks flamed. His eyes twitched to God, who was scowling at him in divine displeasure. He felt the eyes of the other angels boring into him. Moisture started to bead along his hairline, beneath his arms, in the small of his back. He was sweating; it was something that he had never done before and he didn't particularly enjoy it now and wanted it to end.

"I think . . ." Michael started, but then he paused, unsure of his next words. He agreed with Sataniel. And he knew that God knew that he agreed with Sataniel. But at the same time he felt a sense of duty, or perhaps it was fear, that made it impossible for him to stand beside his brother against their creator. He just couldn't do it.

Michael hung his head and mumbled, "I think we should all get back to work now."

And with those words the tension flowed out of the crowd that surrounded them. God smiled smugly and leaned back in his throne. God knew that he had won and Michael hated that he had given God the victory but he had felt as if his hands were tied.

"I told you that you would forsake me," said Sataniel quietly.

Then he announced to the group, "Fine. But I am still in charge of making man and he will be made in _my_ image, because I want him to have free will and not be just another sheep in thrall of a maniacal shepherd." And with a great flap of his iridescent wings he shot up into the air and was gone. The others started to disperse as well, gossiping quietly amongst themselves.

"Gabriel, Raphael, come forward," said God.

Michael watched the two goofball angels approach the throne with trepidation. After having seen God's recent anger he didn't blame them for being a little frightened to face the fickle deity.

"Tell me honestly, how far have you come with your creations?" God asked serenely.

"Uh . . ." said Raphael succinctly.

"Well, you see, there was this problem with the Bunsen burners," started Gabriel.

And God said "Wrong answer," and reached forward and knocked their heads together. The angels collapsed in a heap at the foot of his throne and the Cherubim had to scamper out of the way to avoid being flattened like Cherubim pancakes.

"What was that for?" asked Michael, coming forward to aide his fallen brothers. He knelt beside them, looked at them and stood up again after a few moments because he had no idea what to do to help them and because he felt foolish just staring ineffectually at their unconscious forms.

God shrugged, "I didn't know how else to knock the ideas out of their heads. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself." God snapped his fingers and the model of the world appeared in the air between Michael and him. Then he wiggled his fingers over it as if he were sprinkling it with stardust and the waters on the planet started to churn. Slowly they receded to reveal spots of brown and black land. Even as angry as he was with God at that moment Michael couldn't help but be impressed.

Reading his mind, God said, "Oh, that's nothing," and wiggled his fingers again. Everywhere on the model the brown was slowly replaced by patches of bright green, dark green, white, red, yellow, blue, and pink and a million other colors that still didn't have names yet. Then God snapped his fingers again and the ball disappeared.

"Why'd you make it go away?" asked Michael, "It was really beautiful."

"Because we need to talk."

"So was all of that in Raphael's and Gabriel's heads? I didn't realize they had gotten that far in their designs."

"It was all there. They just had yet to put their ideas into concrete form. But I don't have time to waste here. What are you going to do about Sataniel?"

Michael shook his head, surprised that God was asking him this question. "I guess I can have a talk with him?" he suggested. He was unsure what God wanted from him and was loathe to say too much and get himself into trouble.

"I think we've gone past that point, Michael. He needs to be punished."

"I am not the punishing angel. Why are you asking me?"

"Because Sataniel seemed to think that you were on his side."

"Ah," said Michael. He had known this was coming and it would do no good to lie to a God who could read his mind anyway. "Well, in a way I do. You're kind of a jerk sometimes and you are making us do all this work and we'll never get any of the credit for it, which kind of sucks. But on the other hand I can also see how we all need to be on the same page, on the same team and working towards a common goal. Dissention could cause a problem. And you are rather arbitrary with the rules."

"So what are you going to do?" asked God again.

"I still don't know what you want. But I will talk to him."

"Man should be in _my_ image, Michael, because _I_ am God, not Sataniel."

"Fine," said Michael, irritated that God was asking him to do this instead of taking care of it himself. "Anything else? Because I should really get back to work now."

"Michael," said God and Michael stopped in his tracks and turned back around.

"Yes, God?"

"Sandalphon has been hanging out behind my throne waiting for this conversation to end. Just go where you need to go and she'll follow you."

"Thank you, God," said Michael, surprised for once that God was helping him instead of making his job exponentially more difficult.

"No problem. Glad we're on the same side."

Michael turned and left, fully aware of the threat that lingered in the air even after God's final words had faded.


	6. 6 Hey, Hey It's Some Monkeys

**6**

**Hey, Hey It's Some Monkeys**

"I think we should revolt," said Sataniel as he and Michael worked on their God-given assignments.

"I think you should shut up before you say something you'll regret."

"What are you afraid of Michael?"

"You know that guy who keeps telling us what to do? In case you haven't noticed, he's not entirely rational. And I've gotten to enjoy existence and I'd rather not have that existence extinguished, thank you very much."

"You're a wuss."

Michael frowned. "That may be true for some things but I prefer to think of it as self-preservation, which is a desire you seem to be lacking. Maybe if you ask God for it he'll hook you up with some. Living with him . . . It's kind of important."

Sataniel's voice dripped condescension, "I call it wussiness and I think you have an awful lot of it."

"Whatever. Just get back to work. We don't have much time and you know God won't be pleased if we don't finish. You should have seen what he did to Gabriel and Raphael's heads after you stalked off. He knocked them together like a couple of coconuts." To illustrate he smacked his hands together as hard as he could. The slapping sound was not even close to the "clonking" sound of those angelic heads connecting and the action made his hands sting. He swallowed a wince.

"What are coconuts?" Sataniel cracked an easy smile and mumbled, "Coconuts. That's a funny word."

"They're these brown, hairy balls that grow on these tall plants I saw Gabriel and Raphael working on and what is so funny?" Michael demanded as Sataniel threw back his head and guffawed.

"You said 'hairy balls'."

"Oh, grow up. What does that even mean? Anyway, what I was _trying_ to say was that you've already challenged God so I have a feeling that if you displease him you'll get a lot worse than a blow to the head."

Sataniel shrugged. "What's he gonna do? Pitch me off a cloud? I don't get how that's a bad thing, dude. It would mean freedom. Maybe you should think about that." And then he went back to work on his sculpture of man's face.

Michael settled into irritated silence. He was irritated mostly by Sataniel's blasé attitude towards his own fate. But he was also irritated because had been struck by sudden inspiration, which he refused to call divine, and had been working on molding woman's exquisite lips for quite a while now and she still didn't match the vision in his head. For a brief moment he considered returning to God and requesting an upgrade on his artistic skills but then thought better of it and decided to just do his best with what he had.

A few minutes passed with no passable results and so he punched the deformed clay face right where the mouth should have been.

Sataniel was busy deliberately trying not to notice his frustration. Michael could tell because Sataniel was humming and averting his eyes whenever Michael looked in his direction. Finally, Michael turned around and asked, "So how is "man" coming along? Need help with anything? Or do you just have something in your eye?"

Sataniel brushed his sculpture with a few more quick fingers strokes, gave it a quick once-over and said, "No to both of those. You don't really know what you're doing and I don't want you mucking up my masterpiece."

"I doubt you're much better than me. God made us more alike than he intended to, I think."

"True, but with one major difference. I have talent." He spun the sculpture around on its little table and said, "Hello. Is it me you're looking for?"

It was a work of art. And this work of art looked exactly like Sataniel. Michael felt the jealousy rising within him and he bit his lip to keep from saying something snarky. Maybe success at this task would be just the thing to get Sataniel back on track. Michael vowed to hold his tongue for the good of all the angels.

"Jealous?" asked Sataniel with a smirk.

"No," Michael lied, frustrated that his emotions were so apparent on his face.

"I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your smile."

"I'm not smiling."

"Doesn't matter."

A sudden crash rang throughout the heavens, followed by a flash of intense yellow light and God screaming, "Argh! Who let the monkeys out?"

The Cherubim echoed, "Who? Who? Who? Who?"

God bellowed, "Shut up and catch them!"

Michael and Sataniel exchanged confused glances, their small tiff already over. Sataniel spoke first, "What was that?"

"Who knows? What's a monkey?"

A moment later a spindly, scraggly brown creature raced past them on all fours. The four Cherubim chased after it, half-flying, half running, but mostly just falling into and over each other. One of them knocked into Michael as it zoomed by and Sataniel had to catch them both and put them both back onto their feet.

"Grab it!" someone shouted and Michael acted instinctively and gripped the wiry thing by two of its legs and held on as it shrieked and jumped in his arms.

"Now what?" asked Michael as he struggled to avoid the monkey's tiny snapping fangs and flying claws. Clearly things were getting out of control and something had to be done about it. Michael sighed because he knew just who would be doing the cleaning up. For a brief moment he allowed himself to believe that Sataniel was correct, that he would be better off on his own. But was that a leap of faith he was prepared to make?

"Michael, over here!" shouted Uriel.

Michael turned his head to see Uriel standing nearby with a large and currently empty metal cage. Uriel held the door open and beckoned for Michael to place the creature inside.

"Help me for a moment, Sataniel."

Sataniel came forward and took the creature's other two legs and together they hauled it over to the open cage, Michael quickly shifting his arms this way and that to keep his flesh away from the creature's mouth. Sataniel muttered curses every time the creature's long and powerful tail lashed at his torso.

"One, two, three," Michael said and they swung the animal into the cage. Landing seemed to stun the creature, allowing Uriel to close the door before it tried to scamper back out.

"That was wild," said Sataniel. He slapped Uriel on the back so hard that Uriel stumbled forward into the cage. The jostling seemed to shake the monkey out of its stupor and it attacked the bars with renewed life. The angels all backed away as the thing attempted to reach through the bars and shred their skin with its claws.

"How did the monkey get loose?" Michael asked.

"_Monkeys_, to be precise," said Uriel.

"Okay then, monkeys. How did they get out?"

"God decided that his world needed more light. And so he said 'let there be light' or something like that and—"

"That is not what I said!" bellowed God who had suddenly materialized beside the cage. He was holding a nearly comatose monkey by the throat in one hand and with the other he whipped the cage door open just long enough to toss the beast inside and then whipped it closed once more.

"I am sorry, God, if I got it wrong. I think it's your story to tell, so you tell it."

"Don't mind if I do," said God, in a strangely singsong voice, which made all of Michael's hairs stand on end. And then God, unfortunately, continued, "So, it went a little something like this:"

"Oh no," Michael murmured. "Please, God, no."

"So I said, let there be lights in the firmament, lights in the firmament of heaven"

"Sha-la-la" said the Seraphim who appeared flying above God's divine head, apparently sensing God's need for vocal and instrumental backup, although God's song appeared to be more of a breakaway pop number than something fit for an angelic choir.

"Yes, I said, let there be lights in the firmament, lights in the firmament of heaven!"

"Sha-la-a"

"And those lights will divide the day from the night. And then we'll be feelin' all right."

"Dear God," whispered Sataniel to Michael. "I told you he was bonkers."

"Not so fast. Maybe he just wanted to try out the whole singing thing?"

Michael knew that he was grasping at straws and knew that Sataniel knew it, as well, when he saw the look that the other angel was giving him. Sataniel's face appeared frozen somewhere between confusion and pain.

"And we'll be feelin' all right," God continued.

"Sha-la-la"

"And let those lights count the signs, the seasons, the days, the years. And the light will take all our fears."

"And I'm out!" said Sataniel loudly. He turned to leave and bumped into Remiel, who was hauling another monkey towards the cage. Sataniel stepped aside and said, "Watch it with those things, will you?"

The music stopped, the backup voices faded one by one, and God stood still, staring with seemingly innocent curiosity at Sataniel's back. "Where do you go, my child? I was telling you how I made the sun and the moon and the seasons and all sorts of other really impressive things. You can't leave in the middle of my big number."

Sataniel flapped his wings once and lifted effortlessly into the air. "Not interested. In fact, kind of bored."

In the span of a few moments God's face darkened with anger and the normally pink clouds surrounding him darkened to a mottled purple. "Sataniel," he said calmly, "Nice work on man. But I've decided to go in another direction."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sataniel asked. Tense silence stretched between them like a web, ensnaring every angel watching the confrontation unfold, the silence broken only by errant screams from the feral, caged monkeys.

God and his seeming favorite angel stared each other down for a long time. And though the others only seemed interested in the here and now, Michael saw the depth of the battle being waged. There was more at stake here than the pride of creation. And for the first time Michael wondered if God had created something that he could not control.

For the moment, however, God seemed to have the situation well in hand as he cleared his throat and slowly, distinctly said, "I am God. Man shall look like me, not like you. I have already made the necessary adjustments."

"You, sir, are an asshat," declared Sataniel.

God chuckled and the clouds surrounding him faded to a delicate, soft pink once again. God knew that he had won and Michael wasn't so sure that was the best thing for all of the other angels.

"Do you even know what you're saying?" asked God with a broad and benevolent smile.

"Not at all," Sataniel admitted, "And not that it matters, but stay out of my head, God."

Michael and some of the other angels flinched as if they expected divine retribution in the form of flashing lightning bolts or a curse for uncontrollable diarrhea. But God said nothing. He only laughed harder until Sataniel flew away in a huff.

"Where is he going?" asked some of the other angels.

"To go check on his 'man'. But he's too late. I already changed man's face. Man is supposed to look like me. End of discussion."

"Why does it matter?" Michael asked and God turned to him, still smiling.

"Oh trust me, it matters," said God, "Just as it matters that I have plucked Sandalphon's image from your mind and applied it to your lump of clay. Good job, by the way. She's breathtaking. But you suck as an artist."

"Yeah, thanks." Michael was alternately impressed and irritated by God's forwardness, especially since it was in front of so many of the other angels. The Cherubim giggled loudly at the dig but at least the other angels looked somewhat impressed that God had complimented Michael's vision for the first woman. He held onto that small bit of divine approval and asked, "You know that Sataniel is not going to take this lying down, don't you?"

"Ga-ga-ah-ah-ah. Roma, roma-ma."

Okay, Michael thought, God has completely lost his mind this time. He wanted so badly to shake some sense in to the smiling deity and tell him that he was being the very asshat thing Sataniel had accused him of being. Instead he asked calmly, "What does that mean?"

"It means you asked a stupid question," God answered in an offhand way, then turned around and said loudly, "Where are my new angels?"

"New angels?" Michael asked. "When did you make new angels?"

"When I realized that you angels were so beautiful and I had given you all jobs so that you were too busy to spend time with me. So I made some companions to keep me company."

Two new angels landed at Gods' sides and several of the angels gasped. Even Michael had to admit that these two angels were the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. They had golden hair, bright blue eyes, iridescent wings, and strong bodies draped in white fabric very similar to God's. They were beautiful and Michael wanted to be in awe but something stopped him.

"They are beautiful," said Remiel.

"You are a glorious and all-powerful God," said Uriel.

"We like them, too," said the Cherubim in unison.

Michael was about to join the chorus when he realized what seemed off about these two angels. "They look like Sataniel."

God smiled. "Why yes, yes they do."

As it finally dawned on the other angels Michael said, "That's a little creepy, even for you. Don't you think?"

"I am what I am, Michael," God said softly. He then turned to the assembled angels and announced, "Get back to work. Soon it will be time to bless my world with all sorts of flora and fauna and I expect perfection."

The angels obeyed immediately. The Seraphim flitted off in a cacophonous flurry of wings and something vaguely resembling music. The others returned to their assigned tasks, debating minutia, planning for their unveilings. But Michael didn't move and it didn't take long for God to notice.

"Is there something else my child?" God asked as one of the Sataniel look-alikes gently stroked God's divine cheek.

"And what are you going to do?" asked Michael. Clearly God had a plan that none of them were privy to. Maybe it was the fact that he was God, but things seemed to turn out in his favor every single time.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," said God.

"Nice," Michael said, not without some irritation.

"Get Sataniel in check. Keep him in check."

Michael sighed. "You know you're setting me up for failure. Why don't you do it?"

"I am otherwise occupied."

The two Sataniel look-alikes giggled and Michael raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what lay beneath their white robes but once again he had to fight the jealousy that rose within his spirit. It was not his place to question God, he reminded himself. At least not out loud.

"I shall try my best," Michael said and turned and walked away across the clouds. He would have flown but he didn't want the new angels to make fun of his attempts at graceful flight. At least this way he had a few moments to figure out how to calm Sataniel down right before he explained that there were now two other Sataniels flitting around the place who were even at this moment fawning over God in ways the first Sataniel couldn't even imagine.

Yes, he would try his best. But he suspected that when it came to Sataniel his best would not be good enough.


	7. 7 They Call it Xanadu

**7**

**They Call it Xanadu**

Overnight the angelic realm was transformed from a wondrous world of pastel clouds into a strange and often times smelly menagerie of creatures great and small, including, much of Michael's chagrin, several different types of monkeys.

Strange giants drifted slowly through the cloudbanks, lifting their heads on long, stalk-like necks every so often before dipping them down once again. Dolphins turned somersaults through tufts of cloud. And smaller animals swam in groups of tens or even hundreds through the murky pastel soup.

Some animals were like the monkeys, covered in hair and smelling of unpleasant things that Michael couldn't quite put his finger on. Others towered over the angels and had rough, brownish-green skin very similar to that of Sandalphon and Metatron's original forms; they were the dinosaurs. But whether hairless or hairy one thing was pretty much universal: sometimes the ones with sharp teeth attacked the ones without sharp teeth and blood ran red on the clouds.

And still more animals cavorted in the skies. These had wings but were far from being angels. Some were large and covered in rough skin that looked painfully stretched between their bones. Others swooped and dove gracefully in and around the other creatures in bright flashes of primary color. The Seraphim danced with these animals and chattered with them in some brainless language that was only a fraction as annoying as the normal song of the Seraphim, though perhaps that was just because it was new.

Give it time, Michael thought, as he scratched his chest and made his way across the clouds towards God's throne, every song becomes grating when it's overplayed. He had already grown tired of the dinosaurs' off-key humming. Luckily a lot of the animals would be leaving today. On some level he realized that that would only usher in even more creatures of the hairy and/or leathery variety but his only hope was that they wouldn't be so musically inclined?

Michael was on his way to see God to request a different assignment. He wanted to work with the dinosaurs instead of the hairier beasts. Even though they were just as likely to cause bodily harm and they sang in the voices of long-dead cows with necrotic voice boxes, they did not have fur, and that, Michael realized, was good enough for him.

As he stepped up to God's throne he was taken aback by the sight of God reclining in his seat, one leg slung up over the arm of the throne, his white robe hiked up to reveal a scandalous span of divine thigh, and his two new Sataniel look-alikes fawning all over him. One of them sat near God's leg and anointed his feet with something oily and pungent. The other angel stood behind God and combed his fingers through God's golden, shoulder-length hair.

"Michael!" God said with a languid smile. In fact, it was the most at ease Michael had ever seen God and he wondered what these new angels were doing to God to make him so relaxed. He wished he had thought to brush God's hair or wipe his feet with stinking oils. "My main angel, my warrior angel, my Michael."

Michael raised one eyebrow and said hesitantly, "Yes, I am here, God. What would you ask of me?"

"Why are you wearing polka dots?"

The Cherubim giggled from their places beside the throne and the two new angels laughed in matching deep, throaty laughs. Michael blushed; his various red bumps and scrapes blushed darker.

"You tasked me to handle the smaller, hairy animals. Aside from their questionable tempers and sharp nails, their fur made me itch all over," said Michael as he rubbed his arms and his chest. Instead of relieving the itch the contact only irritated his skin further. His skin still felt as if tiny little rat nails were prickling him all over. He thought he might go mad.

"I am sorry to hear that," said God, "Here, let me help you."

God waved his hand and the fire on Michael's skin abated somewhat. "Oh, Thank you, God," he sighed with relief.

"Good?" asked God with a wry smile that told Michael he already knew how good it was.

"Incredible," Michael said. "So what made me so itchy?"

"Allergies?" suggested the angel at God's feet.

God scowled and kicked over the angel's golden pot of oil, which rolled away over the clouds and disappeared, presumably to fall to its doom on the little blue planet. Good thing it wasn't populated yet or someone would be about to have a very unpleasant morning. The angel said nothing to defend itself, merely hung its head, and God smiled at this show of obeisance.

"That's what happens when you talk out of turn," muttered God. Then to Michael he said, "I think I'll call it allergies. Just a little something I was trying out."

"Don't you think that that was a little cruel?" Michael asked.

"Oh yes, allergies are deliciously cruel."

"No, not that. You kicked his pot of oil. Maybe he picked up on that word from you? You do tend to send out little images and words that don't make sense to most of us. I always thought it was on purpose just to mess with us but maybe you're doing it without realizing it?"

God's eyes laughed Michael knew instantly that it was at his expense. He blushed once more and scratched absent-mindedly at his arm as God said matter-of-factly, "I just decided I didn't like the smell of that gunk. It made my nose itch."

"Kind of like all of these little hairballs are doing to me?"

"Kind of," mused God, "Except my itching nose is divine in nature."

Michael rolled his eyes and this time the Cherubim and the other angels joined him. He stifled a smile, suddenly feeling as if he maybe wasn't so alone after all. Then he quickly reminded himself that he had thought the same thing of Sataniel, and he was more and more turning into something Michael could not abide. In fact, Michael hadn't seen him ever since he had run away in a huff over God's alterations to the Man design. Where was he, anyway? He mused.

And as if reading his mind, which was most likely the case, God suddenly blurted out, "Where is Sataniel?"

"No idea," Michael admitted. "Haven't seen him since yesterday, though I heard him wailing for a long time."

"Everyone heard him wailing," muttered the angel fingering God's golden locks. He sounded as bored as he looked by this conversation.

"But then the wailing stopped and I haven't seen him since."

God looked at his hands for a moment and said, "Find him, Michael." He was serious. There was no room for questions.

Michael felt his heart speed up and his breath catch as nerves gripped him with icy fingers. He had been given a task by God and he would perform it perfectly, as he was designed to do.

"As you wish," he said and started to leave.

"Did I say I was finished?" God bellowed. Michael returned, feeling foolish for attempting to leave before being dismissed. Instead of speaking God shifted in his seat. His robe slid up his divine thigh and Michael looked away, embarrassed. "What's wrong, Michael? It's nothing you haven't seen before . . . Oh wait, yes it is."

Michael's face grew hot and he asked between his clenched teeth, "Anything else?"

"Yes," said God, "Assemble the angels. It is time for the air and water creatures to descend to my planet and everyone will have to help."

"Everyone?" The angel combing God's hair stopped his ministrations in shock that he might be asked to do something besides rub up against his creator.

"Yes, everyone. It's getting noisy and unlike the other animals you can't teach those flying ones where to poop. This place is covered in slimy green spots and my beautiful clouds are looking rather dingy with all of this animal activity. Today the water and air creatures and tomorrow the land creatures. And who knows, maybe even Man and Woman."

"Really?" asked Michael, filled with equal parts of hope and trepidation. All of the angels would soon see his creation and he only hoped that he had done her justice. "You know," Michael added, "Your world really ought to have a name. Have you come up with one yet?"

"Good point," God said, "How about 'Earth'?" He had spoken nonchalantly as if he was just throwing out ideas but Michael knew better than to believe it. God had always known that his planet would be called Earth.

"Earth and Heaven. Heaven and Earth. It works."

"I like 'Heaven'," said the Cherubs as a group.

"Not a chance, freaks," said God, "I've decided that this place needs something a little more uplifting, something with a little more pizzazz and sparkle." His face suddenly lit up and light shone out of his dazzlingly blue eyes so brightly that Michael averted his gaze until the flash faded.

When he opened his eyes again God was standing up before his throne. His robe had been replaced by a pair of short, tight leggings and a sleeveless shirt that exposed God's bulging biceps. Michael wasn't sure he agreed with the change but God's new angels were dressed in the same manner and high-fived behind God's back.

"This place is no Heaven anymore," God said. "This place . . . This place . . . is Xanadu!"

Insanity ensued. Multi-colored lights suddenly etched bizarre patterns on the clouds and Michael shut his eyes as their dance made his head spin. The music of the birds and the Seraphim was drowned out by the sudden blaring of cacophonous music that seemed to emanate from the clouds themselves. Michael thought about covering his ears but after a moment decided that it wasn't so bad, certainly not as bad as what he was used to. In fact, the beat was kind of catchy. He opened his eyes slowly to see God zooming in circles around him, followed by his new angels, though Michael was pleased to see that they had a difficult time keeping up with God's magnificent pace.

And then one of them fell, which was classic. Michael couldn't contain his smile when the other one to tripped over the first one and they ended up in a heap of limbs and fluffy clouds.

"What are you standing there for?" Called God as he zoomed past Michael.

And on his next lap around he called out, "I have set you to your task."

And then, "Get moving!"

Michael shook his head and walked away, chuckling. If God was a madman what chance did the rest of them have? He had only gone a few steps when he realized that God's new Sataniel clones had fallen into step beside him.

"Can I help you guys?" he asked, fully aware that the answer might draw him even deeper into God's insanity.

"God said we had to help so we're helping," said one angel as the other one nodded like a maniac in Michael's peripheral vision.

"Fine. I have no problem with that, but what did God create you for anyway? He gave all of us tasks that we have to complete. What are your tasks?"

The angels exchanged glances and both sprouted matching grins that hinted at things Michael couldn't even imagine.

"Well you see, Michael—" started one angel but Michael cut him off.

"Nevermind!" he said, "I _don't_ need to know this." He lifted his arms as if to defend himself from the angels' words and the secret knowledge they contained. "I just don't need to know," he muttered as he walked away. He knew the angels followed him because he could hear them tittering away about something behind his back. He wasn't about to ask them anything again. What happened with God stayed with God, and that was enough for him.

"Angels!" Michael called out, his voice booming across the heavens, or rather, Xanadu. He couldn't help but be impressed with how Godlike he sounded. But that confidence was short-lived when Gabriel answered almost immediately.

"Jesus, Michael, you don't have to scream," Gabriel said. All of the angels were already assembled; even the freakish Seraphim had left their games in the skies and stood side by side with their brothers. "We're right here."

"How'd you assemble so quickly? I only just called," Michael asked as he scanned the crowd. Sataniel and Sandalphon were mysteriously absent. Then again, wondered Michael, how would I even know if Sandalphon were here or not? Yet another of God's harebrained schemes gone entirely wrong.

"God told us to come here," came the reply from several of the angels.

"What?" asked Raphael when Michael's face fell, "You thought _your_ call brought us here? Not likely. We answer to a higher authority."

The others laughed. Michael scowled but otherwise did his best to ignore them. "Then you have your assignments. Remiel, you take half of the angels and distribute your water creatures, starting with the dinosaurs. Uriel, you take half and do the same with the air creatures. These all need to be deposited on the Earth today so let's get going."

"What's the Earth?" Remiel asked.

"It's God's name for his planet," Michael answered with a sigh.

"He named that place before he named this place? That makes no sense."

"Oh, this place has a name. It's called Xanadu."

Michael heard mutterings of, "Xanadu?" and, "What's a Xanadu?" and, "I rather like it," volleying between the angels as they came to terms with the name of their home.

He grinned then and said, "Just wait until you see the new mandatory uniforms. Okay everybody, get moving!"

The angels scattered in all directions and Michael assumed it was because God just sent them an order to do so because he knew they would not have moved so quickly just for him. Michael decided it was time to face facts once and for all: God was endlessly annoying and it did no good to get upset about it.

He flew up into the sky and called to the mid-to-small sized flying dinosaurs and they assembled around him. Together they crested the clouds and dove more-or-less gracefully down to the Earth. It was rough going at first, and if dinosaurs could laugh Michael felt certain one or two of them would be having a good chuckle over his questionable flying skills but he couldn't give up this time. He stayed the course and quickly grew to know his body, the nuances of the muscles that controlled his wings. He learned to steer, to glide, and when they penetrated the Earth's atmosphere, to ride the air currents while expending little effort.

Michael flew over the verdant masses of land until he found the most beautiful garden oasis and just knew that this was where he would release his flock. He stopped and lifted his arms and hovered over the landscape as his dinosaurs rushed past him. It all felt very ceremonial and important but within moments they were all gone and it felt a little anticlimactic.

He knew that he should return to Xanadu to gather a group of birds and escort them down to Earth but the Earth called to him. This was the first time he was seeing God's planet close up; there was no harm in poking about a bit, was there?

Before he had even convinced himself to do so his bare feet touched the grass and he sighed as he felt each individual blade yielding to his weight. A warm breeze ruffled the fine hairs on his arms and he shivered in pleasure. He looked up through the trees and closed his eyes and let the sunlight warm his face, his bare chest. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and drank in the glory of the surrounding garden. He couldn't resist fingering the leaves, caressing the stems, delicately touching the most delicate blossoms.

His ears filled with the sounds of running water and he ventured further into the garden, eventually stumbling onto a small river with water like rippling glass overhung by ferns and shade trees. The Cherubim were wrong, Michael thought, let God have his Xanadu . . . this place felt more like a heaven to him. All of the sights and sounds and feelings overwhelmed him and brought tears to his eyes. This was joy and beauty and love incarnate and he couldn't believe that Raphael and Gabriel had thought of all of this on their own. It was too perfect.

As Michael wiped his cheeks he became aware of another sound, one that came from neither angel nor bird but seemed distinctly animalistic. It was a growl. Or maybe a purr. At any rate it was a noise that would eventually have a name but did not at that moment.

He looked around to try to locate the direction of the noise and remind whoever had brought the animal here that he had made a mistake because the land animals weren't set to come here until tomorrow. But there was no one behind him in the clearing. Strange, he thought, but then he heard it again and this time discerned that it was coming from across the river.

He thought he saw movement in the shadows but couldn't be sure because there were two large and slightly out-of-place trees blocking his view. So there's the flaw in this place of utter perfection, he thought as he made a mental note to ask God to move the trees elsewhere so as not to disrupt the harmony and balance of this garden. But then the noise came again and he jumped.

"Who's there?" Michael called out. He wasn't frightened, for angels couldn't really be frightened of anything save the wrath of God, but he was nervous about the unknown.

Then the groaning noise came again, followed by a shushing sound and the tension ran out of Michael's body. He knew who was hiding in the shadows.

"Sataniel, have you been here the whole time?" Michael asked as he crossed the river in a few short steps. The water was warm and pleasant, the stones strewn across the river smooth and rounded and not at all unpleasant to walk upon.

"Yeah," said Sataniel, "I have. How's woman coming along?"

"God helped me out. But I never would have had to ask for help if I could have just seen Sandalphon once, you know, to get a feel for her body?"

Sataniel grinned in a conspiratorial way and whispered, "You want to get a feel for her?"

"Um, yeah?" Michael answered, not sure where this was going but suddenly feeling very dirty just for having this conversation.

"Come here then."

Sataniel stepped back behind the tree and Michael followed uncertainly. He half-expected some trick to be played on him but as he stood beside Sataniel and faced one of the enormous, out of place trees, nothing happened.

"So what now?"

Michael could have sworn Sataniel winked at the tree before he said, "Just reach forward and open your hands, like this." He demonstrated reaching his arms out and keeping his hands open, palms facing forward.

Michael copied the movement. "Like this?"

"Perfect, now just walk forward."

"I'll walk into the tree, Sataniel. This is ridiculous."

"Trust me, Michael. It'll totally be worth your while."

Michael sighed and took a step forward. Then another step. And when he took the third his palms brushed up against something pliant, smooth, soft. Something decidedly not tree-like. He curved his fingers to cup the invisible somethings of which his hands were suddenly in possession. And when he gave them a light squeeze whatever he was touching made that strange growling, moaning sound he had heard earlier and he jumped backwards.

"What is that?" he asked, nervous yet suddenly thrilled and immediately he wanted to touch them again, whatever they were. They were nice to touch.

"I call them 'watermelons'," explained Sataniel.

"Why?"

"Because they're big and round and they make your mouth water when you think about them," Sataniel said with a smile, clearly pleased to have coined a phrase.

"I'll concede that they're quite pleasant for reasons that I can't quite pinpoint, but seriously, what am I supposed to be thinking about them? They're invisible."

"You are so slow, man!" said Sataniel, utterly exasperated, "It's Sandalphon! You were just touching Sandalphon's watermelons!"

Michael took a step back as he remembered the images God had inserted into his mind. Sandalphon's body, all curves and luscious softness, and he had just been touching it. He had fondled her watermelons. "Oh, God," he muttered, "I don't think we're supposed to be doing this."

Suddenly Sandalphon giggled and it was the most intoxicating sound Michael had ever heard. He wanted to hear it again but a moment later a gust of wind hit them both as Sandalphon took wing.

"Way to go, dude, you scared her off," said Sataniel.

But Michael was shaken. He remembered how angry God had been when Sataniel had only hinted at touching Sandalphon in an unangelic way. How angry would he be now that they had done it? He quickly rattled off the first excuses that popped into his brain. "What are we going to do now? I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't know she was there. I didn't mean to . . . I mean . . . You tempted me with the unknown!"

"You're joking, right? We both wanted to hit that and you know it."

"Hit that? Why would I want to hit Sandalphon?"

"_Hit_ . . . not hit."

"I still don't get it . . ."

"Like what God is doing to his new angels. They all get together and . . ." Sataniel let his voice trail off hoping that Michael's mind would fill in the blanks. He didn't have to wait long.

Realization brightened Michael's face like the sun climbing in the sky. "Oh," he said simply. Then added, "I guess that's why they get to wear robes and we're still naked."

"Exactly," said Sataniel, slinging his arm over Michael's shoulder. "Just remember: he chose us first, made us better than the others. But he also gave us minds to think of important things. Then we questioned him so he went and made new angels and gave them something special and left us alone."

"I don't think that's how it went," Michael stammered but he wasn't so sure. Sataniel's words were persuasive, especially after the way God had treated him from the beginning. He had been lifted up and slammed back into a cloud bank more times than he could count and all because God was . . . He was . . .

"God is a dick," said Sataniel succinctly, finishing Michael's unvoiced thought, which was odd.

Michael stepped away from Sataniel and lifted his wings, prepared to take off. "You're right. God is a dick, whatever that is. But he's still God. We still must obey him. And right now he wants us helping to bring water and air animals to this planet. We should go."

"No," said Sataniel.

Michael's wings drooped. He hadn't expected that. "What?"

"Michael, I'm done with him, man. That's why I made this place." Sataniel spread his arms, inviting Michael to take a look around.

"How did you make this place? God took the designs for the plant life here directly out of Gabriel & Raphael's heads after he knocked them unconscious."

"Yes, but who put the idea in their heads in the first place?"

Michael didn't know what to say. He got the distinct feeling that this would not be ending well for any of them.

Again Sataniel appeared to read Michael's mind and said, "You could be just like me if you wanted to. Stay here, hang out, every once in a while get a visit from Sandalphon, who will soon have a face thanks to you."

"I can't," Michael heard himself saying. He didn't want to say the words but as soon as he did they felt right. He couldn't stay; he had other business to attend to, though at the moment he couldn't have said what that business was. "I have to go back. I'm needed."

"Like a hole in the head."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Michael went to take off again and again paused. "What will you do? Stay here?"

"Trust me, buddy, you'll see me again. I haven't been kicked off the A-team yet."

Michael nodded, unfolded his wings once more, and said, "Fair enough. Tomorrow's a big day, you know. He's sending land animals and Man and Woman here. But you might want to lay low early in the day when he sends down the dinosaurs. They can't sing for shit."

"Thanks, bro," Sataniel said with a disarming grin.

"Just one more question, though," Michael asked, suddenly noticing something in the tree behind Sataniel.

"What?"

"What's with the snake?"


	8. 8 God Only Knows Part I

**8**

**God Only Knows (Part 1)**

"Pay no attention to the serpent in the tree," said Sataniel. He spoke in an oddly seductive monotone that sounded so different from the Sataniel whom Michael had come to know.

"But it's looking at me," said Michael as he attempted to stare down the ochre-colored reptile. To his dismay as much as he scowled and pulled faces at the thing it continued to stare at him, unwavering, flicking its tongue at him every so often. "And it keeps sticking out its tongue at me, which is just rude."

"It does what it was designed to do," said Sataniel in that same cryptic tone.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sataniel mocked in a very feminine voice.

Before Michael could open his mouth to express his irritation at being mocked first by the snake and now by his brother, Sataniel reached up and plucked one of the shiny, red-hued fruits from the tree.

"Nevermind the snake. Care for a taste?"

Curiosity was not supposed to be an angelic trait but Michael had more than his fair share. This was probably due to the fact that he was created first, before God had had a chance to really work out the flaws in the design. Then again, Sataniel was the last of the brother angels and seemed to be brimming with curiosity despite God's attempts to squash it out of existence.

So yes, Michael admitted that he was terribly curious about the fruit and the very idea of _eating_ something excited him. But as curious as Michael was, the fact remained that angels didn't need to eat.

"We don't eat, Sataniel." Michael knew that it was a lame argument but offered it anyway, so great was his desire to not drawn down God's wrath upon himself and Sataniel.

"We _don't_ eat, yeah. But that doesn't mean we _can't_." Sataniel grinned his famous grin and dug his fingertips into the thick skin of the fruit and tore it in two. The juice dribbled like magenta ink through his fingers, down his wrists, and fell into the grass at his feet. Once the fruit had been split Sataniel held out half to Michael. "Taste it."

"What does it taste like?" Michael asked. He watched the fruit with covetous eyes even as he shied away from it as if it might explode like one of the other angels' botched experiments. The fruit was truly beautiful on the inside, with a complex maze of small, glistening, dark pink bubbles full of juice. It looked wicked, slightly sensual, and made his insides tingle the way they did when he had unknowingly squeezed Sandalphon's watermelons.

"Can't tell you. You have to taste."

It was the answer Michael had expected. He looked heavenward, half expecting to see God hovering there, looking very disappointed with the both of them. But at that moment there was no God, there were no other angels, no one else around to see this tiny indiscretion. He looked back at the proffered fruit, at the juice from its broken insides glistening in the sunlight. Something beneath his jaw twinged painfully and fluid surged into his mouth in anticipation. His mind was made up.

He snatched the fruit from Sataniel's outstretched hand. As Sataniel looked on with a knowing smile on his face, Michael sniffed it, noting that it smelled more like the earth beneath his feet than the flowers with which it shared its color. He stuck out his tongue and tasted it: tart, dark, and yet sweet. The flavor of the fruit overwhelmed him and he was lost. He bent back the rind and the little maroon pebbles separated so that he could pluck them from the husk with his tongue. They popped between his teeth, squirting juice into his mouth, bathing his tongue in the most tantalizing flavor he had ever experienced. It didn't even matter that it was the only flavor he'd ever experienced: if there could only be one, he was so glad this was it.

Michael moaned and looked up at Sataniel with heavy-lidded eyes. His body felt as if it were on fire with pleasure and his vision narrowed to a pinpoint with Sataniel at the center. And for the first time Michael noticed that Sataniel was wearing some sort of garment made of leaves wrapped around his waist.

"What's with the skirt?" Michael asked, his words slurred. He fell to his knees on the new grass and then just kept falling. He closed his eyes.

As he tumbled into darkness he heard Sataniel's voice saying, "You'll know soon enough."

"Get up, Mike," Sataniel called out in a manner far too cheery for Michael's taste. The sun was not yet shining on their side of earth. The immense and heavy darkness of the cosmos surrounded them, dulled the pastel clouds to shades of gray and taupe, and blanketed Michael with irritation at the wakeup call.

"What happened?" he asked as he grabbed an armful of cloud and placed it over his head. No answer was forthcoming but it didn't matter because as soon as he was awake his mind raced back to those moments in the garden with Sataniel when he had touched the softness of Sandalphon's body and he blushed beneath his cloud cover. And then there was the taste of that forbidden fruit that still lingered on his tongue.

"Angels don't sleep," he said.

"You do. Because you're a wuss. But you have to wake up right now. God's calling everyone."

"Since when do you care?" Michael mumbled. He balked at the thought of having to face God. God could read their minds, after all, and so Michael knew he was screwed.

"Since it's time to take all of our furry little friends and put them down where the grass is green and the breeze is blowing"

"Again," said Michael, uncovering his head, "Since when do you care?"

"Because they're the last ones that go down before my Man and your Woman. It's our turn to shine, Mike."

The excitement in Sataniel's voice was palpable and contagious. And in one sense he was right: it was their turn to shine. Granted, God had plucked Woman's countenance from Michael's head and applied it to the clay because Michael himself couldn't make it work. And he did completely alter Sataniel's design for Man and turn him into a God look-alike. So really it was God's big day.

Michael hated to burst Sataniel's bubble but found himself saying, "It's not our big day. It's God's big day. He made Man and Woman. Not us."

Michael opened his eyes and saw that the smile on Sataniel's face hadn't faded. Perhaps it had even widened, although he couldn't be sure considering he hadn't actually looked at Sataniel until that moment. But Sataniel was certainly smiling. And he was still wearing that weird skirt made of leaves.

"Skirt," said Michael, "Explain. Just because God covers himself up doesn't mean we have a reason to. Now take it off before we go to the lineup or there will be hell to pay." Sataniel chuckled and Michael had to ask, "What's so funny?"

"I think you should put on a cloud diaper or something before we hit the line up or you'll be the one with some explaining to do."

"Huh?" Michael said succinctly.

"Look down, doofus."

Michael did as he was told, as he was designed to do, and saw something large and, for lack of a better word, erect, where before there had only been a flat expanse of pale, freckled skin. "What have you done, Sataniel?" he asked breathlessly, his mind racing because there was no way to hide this particular infraction.

"We are like God now. And like Man."

"Holy shit," breathed Michael, and then as Sataniel's words registered in his brain he added, "Wait, what? What do you mean like Man?"

"God changed my Man and I took a peek. This," Sataniel gestured to his crotch, "is what God is hiding under his robe."

"Or his hot pants . . ."

"What are hot pants? Sounds hot."

"Maybe on Sandalphon, but on God . . . Not really my thing. But you'll see soon enough, though I honestly don't know how he fit this thing into such a tiny garment."

"I think the tree liked you, Michael."

"What do you mean? You mean the tree did this?"

"Duh! You have been blessed by the tree, my child," Sataniel said, sounding eerily like God.

"What kind of a tree makes _thi_s happen?"

"I call it 'The Boner Tree'. Cool, huh?"

"Not really," said Michael darkly. Beneath his pouting and protests, however, he had to admit that he felt no small sense of pride at his new endowment. That pride was tempered by absolute terror that God was going to punish them severely for eating the fruit in the garden but at least he'd have his . . . whatever it was.

"So how did the tree . . ." Michael began, but then he looked up and saw God's enforcer angels, Raguel and Sariel, flying overhead. Upon seeing Michael and Sataniel they came in for a landing. Michael scrambled to get the thing between his legs to do something besides stare at him the way the snake in the garden had but the thing seemed to have a mind of its own and just kept popping back up to say, "Hello!"

"Better get that thing under control, Mikey," said Sataniel with a laugh as Michael hurried to cover his new limb with tufts of cloud. But the cloud bits kept disintegrating as he pulled them against his body and so he was left alternately scrabbling for more coverage and covering himself inadequately with his hands.

Raguel and Sariel landed and gave the two wayward angels the stink eye just as Michael finally got enough cloud bits to stay in place. His brother angels had changed since the last time Michael had seen them; they appeared to be taking their duties more seriously. Across their pale, hairless chests they wore matching black sashes emblazoned with the word "Enforcer" in sparkly silver letters.

"Stand up and show some respect," Raguel commanded Michael.

Michael didn't move for fear of losing his feeble cloud cover. His eyes flicked to Sataniel who was covering his mouth with one hand to stifle a laugh at Michael's predicament.

"I'm afraid I can't do that right now, boys," Michael said and hoped that they would drop it.

But Sariel barked, "You must come now. God has been calling his angels to him for some time now and you two are the only ones who have not heeded his call. Where have you been and why are you covered in clouds? Stand and follow us or face God's wrath."

"Oooooh, wrath," said Sataniel, unable to take them seriously for the reason that they were patently ridiculous.

Raguel was not amused. "Stand up," he commanded once more. This time behind the command Michael felt the power of God compelling him to obey.

So Michael stood but there was nothing he could do to keep the tuft of cloud in place. He told himself that he probably wouldn't have many opportunities to show it off anyway so he should just make the most of it. As he gained his feet the last tufts of cloud dissipated completely until he stood naked before God's enforcer angels. He put his hands on his hips and stared them down. Their eyes widened as they realized that he was now very different from them.

"What is _that_?" asked Raguel, looking back and forth between his crotch and Michael's, his face blank in bewilderment.

"Where did you get it?" asked Sariel.

"I don't know what it is," whispered Raguel, "But I want one."

"Me, too," said Sariel reverently.

"And the Boner Tree wins again!" announced Sataniel with glee.

"Boner tree?" asked Sariel and Raguel simultaneously.

"I can show you," said Sataniel, "Follow me."

"Wait!" said Michael and they all looked at him as if he had just peed in the punch bowl. He had only a moment to be irritated that God was in his head again and feeding him words that he didn't understand before he realized what this meant and the irritation solidified into fear. He shook his head as if that would dislodge God from his gray matter and asked, "Doesn't God need us?"

"Oh, yeah," said Sariel sadly. But then he brightened, "Hey! We'll take you to God and then while everyone is busy dispersing the animals you can show us this Boner Tree."

Raguel added, "And Michael, didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to point at people. Borrow a leaf from Sataniel or something and make yourself presentable. "

Sataniel smiled and spread his wings to take off but Michael stopped him with a hand on his arm. Sataniel scowled at the interruption. Michael flinched at the gesture. The happy-go-lucky, silly, slightly daft Sataniel had disappeared and the angel that he had become was calculating, manipulative. Michael got the feeling it had something to do with eating the fruit of the Boner Tree and he wondered how long Sataniel had been stealing it before sharing his findings.

"You can't show them the tree," Michael said, "It's not meant for us."

Sataniel's icy blue eyes darkened to match the twilight sky. "What do you know, lapdog? You can't have it both ways. You have seen what God has to offer and now you have tasted what I can offer. You're going to have to choose eventually, Michael. Now you just have to decide which one is sweeter." He cocked his head as if listening to some secret voice that Michael couldn't hear and then added, "Or maybe God will make that choice for you once he sees what you have done."

Sataniel took off after the others. Michael looked down at his new appendage and was pleased to see that it was finally starting to obey gravity, no doubt due to the fear that stabbed through his guts at the thought of facing God.

"You have every right to be afraid," God's voice boomed through Michael's head without warning.

"Oh, God," Michael muttered.

"Shut it. We have work to do. Come to me now and for my sake cover yourself. I don't need my companion angels to see what you're packing."

"Yes, God." Michael sounded subservient, he knew he did, now he just had to get his thoughts in line with his voice because God would not be fooled by words alone.

"And by the way, you can tell Sataniel that it's not called a Boner Tree. It's called the Tree of Life. It was not meant for my angels. You will both be punished for your indiscretion."

"Why don't you tell him?" Michael asked.

"Because it's funnier to watch you try to stand up to him even when you agree with a lot of what he says."

"Is this my punishment?" asked Michael, not bothering to deny God' accusation. He could put on a brave face if he needed to and confront Sataniel, even if he knew God would be in the back of his mind, laughing at his bumbling attempts.

"Not even close," said God. "Now, come!"

Suddenly Michael felt as if someone had yanked on something inside of him and without any effort on his part Michael felt the supreme, cold power of God envelop him and drag him across the clouds toward God, the angel that aspired to be like God, and the promise of a very unpleasant punishment.


	9. 9 God Only Knows Part II

**9**

**God Only Knows ****Part 2**

"Ooooooh, you're in trouble!" the other angels teased as God's power released Michael and dumped him right in the middle of all of the assembled angels. The teasing, however, quickly turned to mute shock as Michael stood and dusted bits of cloud from his body and his brothers saw how he had changed.

"What is that?" They all asked in hushed, reverent tones that could barely be heard over the incessant bellowing of the dinosaurs that echoed across this part of Xanadu.

Michael tried to ignore the off-key singing, managed to ignore completely the murmurs of the other angels and made his way over to the now abandoned workstation of Raphael and Gabriel. There he rummaged among the detritus for something with which to cover himself before God and his companion angels showed up. He found a swath of deep red cloth that was not unlike the color of the fruit of the Boner Tree and fashioned a sort of makeshift covering for himself. He tied it nice and tight because he didn't want to risk anything falling out at an inopportune moment; God was angry enough already.

Michael then turned to his brothers, who were now staring openly at him with a mixture of envy and anger on each and every one of their faces, and said, "Where's Sataniel?"

"What is it with you and Sataniel, anyway?" asked Gabriel, tossing his black hair over his shoulder and rustling his raven-colored wings. Michael thought the rustle sounded a tad haughty but declined to mention it.

There was no point in lying. Michael knew that, for some reason, God had charged him with the special task of looking after Sataniel. And that made him feel prideful even though he didn't fully understand why God would give such an important task to an angel he seemed to find sorely lacking in every respect. "I have been given the chore of looking after our youngest brother because he is a bit of a boil on the butt of our dear God. You don't need to know anything more. Now, where is he?"

"He said he wanted to give Man and Woman a final once-over before they went down to Earth," answered Raphael.

Michael opened his wings to fly across Xanadu to where the prototypes were waiting for God to breathe life into them but Uriel cried, "Wait! God will be here any moment and we will begin taking the dinosaurs down to the planet. You have to be here, Michael."

"You know what?" asked Michael, so sick of being told what to do, "Tell God to do it himself. Or better yet, have his companion angels do it. I'm getting off this crazy train."

"What's a train?" asked Raphael.

Michael recognized the power of God attempting to manipulate his tongue with words he didn't understand. That meant God was approaching. Michael had to go. "Gotta fly!" he said and then took off, soaring high above where the voices of the dinosaurs could reach so that he at least didn't have to deal with that special brand of cacophony. He wondered if it would be possible to get the Seraphim to stay on the planet as well, like invisible watchdogs or something, so that Xanadu could once again be quiet and devoid of atonal music. He had to admit, though, that Sandalphon had made their song less like the wails of dying animals and more like the sounds of angels who cannot sing, which was marginally better on a scale of crap to crap.

As he flew Michael looked down to see animals roaming freely between the cloudbanks of Xanadu. The Cherubim and Seraphim flew close to the clouds, already rounding up the dinosaurs that would be part of the first wave of land animals to go down to the planet. Well, thought Michael, they had their orders already. It was only a matter of time before Man and Woman made their appearance and Michael felt certain that things would not go smoothly. A secret part of him hoped that Sataniel did have something up his sleeve, not necessarily to disrupt but definitely to cause a commotion, a small snag to give God just a little something to think about besides himself for once.

Even as he had these thoughts he recognized them as "other". He wasn't sure if his recent bad attitude was just from spending time with Sataniel or some latent effect of that fruit from the Tree of Life but for the first time since he had been created he felt as though he had a mind of his own, as if he could make a decision completely separate from God's will and that he would survive to tell the tale. He felt free. And he liked it.

Michael's insides tingled as he landed on a cloudbank near the Man and Woman prototypes. The tingle told him that God's first command had gone out: the first of the dinosaurs were on their way down and God still hadn't reasserted his will on Michael. Maybe that meant his disobedience _was_ God's will. Or maybe God was just too busy orchestrating the move to worry about a couple of wayward angels at the moment. Either way it meant that he had a little time to himself in which to find Sataniel and convince him that . . . Well, convince him of something, at any rate. He figured a plan would come to him eventually. Until then he would just wing it.

Michael walked closer to the figures of Man and Woman. They had been draped with a piece of fabric the same color as the one that swathed Michael's waist, presumably for some dramatic "big reveal". Michael shook his head. God had always shown a penchant for drama over substance.

"Sataniel," Michael called out. "Are you here?"

"Not if God sent you," came the respond from behind the curtain. "You can't fire me. I quit."

"No one is getting fired, unless of course you mean the fires of divine wrath. In which case, well, that might actually happen if we don't fall into line."

"Do you really want to fall into line?"

Michael answered on impulse before he had fully thought everything out. "No."

Sataniel stepped out from behind the curtain. He had replaced his skirt of leaves with a skirt made of that same red fabric that Michael had found, and had added a sash over one shoulder. Michael had to admit that it looked quite dashing and wished he had saved some fabric from his covering so that he could make his own sash. Sataniel seemed to be glowing in the same way that God glowed when he was really angry or about to show off his powers. Sataniel was truly a creature of supreme beauty and though it caused him pangs of jealousy Michael no longer wondered why Sataniel had always been God's favorite. Physically he was so similar to God in so many ways. Personality-wise they were also very similar in that they both had gargantuan egos, which meant that they were destined to battle until God decided he was finished and unmade Sataniel in a fit of rage. Michael hoped to stave off any sort of unmaking for as long as he could.

"Then I guess we're together on this. So tell me, what do you think of _my_ Man?" Sataniel asked as he whipped the covering back over the heads of the two prototypes.

Man looked different. It took Michael a second to realize what had changed. He still looked like God but there was something just a little different . . . "Aha!" He suddenly shouted, "You changed his nose! Why would you change his nose? God is going to be so pissed."

"Because I made him to look like me and that's how he's going to go down to the planet. But that's not the best part. You didn't even notice the best part!"

Sighing, Michael asked, "What is the best paaaarrrr . . ." but his voice trailed off as he saw what exactly Sataniel had meant by the best part. "Oh no, Sataniel. God is going to be so pissed."

Sataniel snickered, "I know. I can't wait. But this is even better." Sataniel uncovered Woman and Michael took a step back. After a moment Sataniel came and stood beside him and they appraised Woman together.

She was a thing of beauty the likes of which the angels in Xanadu had never seen before. Her hair was golden, of the same quality and softness as Sataniel's but with a darker underlying tone that provided depth to the soft waves. She had high cheekbones beneath creamy skin, greenish-gold eyes, and lips that were full and a dusky pink. The body beneath that beautiful face matched perfectly the body that Michael had first seen in a vision from God. It was Sandalphon's body, all curves and soft flesh and delicious-looking little bits.

"Wipe your chin, dude. You're drooling," said Sataniel.

"Don't tell me you're not." Michael's eyes couldn't decide whether they liked her lips or her watermelons better and he wished that he could keep one eye on each at all times. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It didn't help.

"You did good," said Sataniel, clapping Michael on the back and laughing.

"No, I did _well_. Wait, what are you doing?"

Sataniel had gone to the unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing form of Woman. "They are waiting for God to breathe life into them. But what does that mean? Is he really going to breathe on them? And what would happen if I did it first?"

"No," Michael whispered fiercely. Then louder, with a force and power he did not know that he possessed. Sataniel had truly crossed the line this time. "No, Sataniel! This has gone far enough. You are not God and you cannot aspire to be God. Know your place, brother."

"What is my place, bro? What is yours? We're more than his creations, you know. We're like God's Mini-Me's."

"What's a Mini Me?"

"A little God. We're his little Gods and I think he wants us to do this."

Sataniel leaned towards Woman but Michael was at his side in a moment and threw him backward. Michael felt power surge through his limbs as he watched Sataniel fly backward into a cloudbank and disappear. Michael's mind hummed with righteous strength that he didn't know he had. He looked down at his hands, his arms, where the muscles rippled beneath freckled, glowing skin.

Michael was startled from his reverie by the sound of someone clapping. He looked up to see that Sataniel had climbed out of the cloudbank and was now slowly walking towards him, clapping his hands together with an irritating slowness. Michael felt the power wash through him once again and really had to fight the urge to throw a punch and smash Sataniel's perfect, beautiful face.

"Is that necessary?" Michael asked.

"Of course."

"What purpose does it serve?"

"It's for effect. Someday it will be used far and wide as an indicator of the presence of sarcasm."

"Huh?" Michael asked, thoroughly confused.

Sataniel shook his head. "You're so simple, Michael. It's all right here," he tapped his temple, "All you have to do is grab it."

"I think I liked you better as a brainless chump."

"At least you're honest," Sataniel shrugged. "And there are times I'd be tempted to agree with you. But not right now. You can't tell me that you don't feel different now. I can see it in your skin, in your eyes . . . We've changed, Michael. We've become more."

"That doesn't mean we can play God, Sataniel."

Sataniel smiled and said two words that stood Michael's copper-colored hair on end. "Watch me."

Sataniel charged and before Michael could fly out of the way the angels collided and they both went down. Michael didn't know which way was which as they rolled across the billowing clouds, throwing punches, mostly missing, though on accident or on purpose even he didn't know. At one point Sataniel tried to take wing but Michael pulled him back down and the melee continued.

And so it went for some time until they realized that neither one could best the other. They separated, presumably just a pause between a renewed attacks but Sataniel dropped his fists. They stared at each other from several feet apart, each one panting heavily, both of their pale, perfect bodies marred with red marks and scratches where the few blows had actually made contact. Michael licked his swelling lips and tasted something metallic. He spat it onto the pastel clouds where it landed, dark obscene. He toed a bit of fluff over it to hide the stain.

Sataniel seized on Michael's distraction to carry out his own agenda. He flew to Woman, placed his hands on either side of her head and brought his lips to hers.

"No!" Michael screamed and flew to his brother's side. He pulled Sataniel off of Woman and threw him backward once more and this time Sataniel stayed down. Michael turned back to Woman and saw that she had closed her eyes. The slightest smile now played upon her sumptuous lips. Michael growled at Sataniel, "What have you done, brother?"

They both watched Woman in silence for some time but she did not move again save for the rhythmic motion of her chest in and out with her breath. It was a beautiful thing and Michael felt the most ridiculous pang of jealousy that he had not thought to do it first. But he squashed that thought out of existence. Xanadu only needed one renegade angel.

"Well," said Sataniel with a cocky sigh, "Apparently I didn't do much. Oh well, I tried."

"_And you shall be punished_!" God's voice shook the clouds with rage and Michael and Sataniel had to grasp each other to keep from falling over. A moment later God appeared before them and he was pissed. Lightning flashed in the clouds beneath God's suddenly tan feet and his now black hair moved as if caught up in an unfelt wind. Behind him Michael could see the other angels on their way. Some of them still had hairy, squealing land animals under their arms, which meant that God had called them all here to witness Sataniel's punishment before they completed their work. Michael had a bad feeling about this.

"Hey, God, what's up?" asked Sataniel nonchalantly. "Like the new look. What gave you that idea?"

"Spent some time on the sun," God said, admiring his own newly bronzed body and flexing for show. He still looked exactly like Sataniel, but whereas Sataniel was the epitome of light, God was now the epitome of darkness. He looked like Sataniel's shadow. "You really like it?"

"Oh yes," said Sataniel, "It's very vengeancey."

"Good, because that's what I was going for." God turned to Michael and didn't bother to lower his voice even though they were now standing within a few steps of each other. "Did I not command you to keep your brother out of trouble?"

Michael's head spun. Seriously? He thought. And then the word flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "Seriously?" And since God was already pissed be added, "You're making this my fault? How exactly is it my fault if you make an angel who wants to be you and then decides to act on that impulse? You can't tell me that you didn't in some way plan for this to happen."

God said nothing, which only confirmed Michaels' assertion. All of the other angels touched down behind God: the Archangels, the Seraphim with their faces covered, the Cherubim with their wings covered in unblinking eyes, the blindingly bright angel Metatron along with, Michael assumed, Sandalphon. The other angels said nothing, which was odd because there was usually some sort of bickering going on amongst them. Even the Seraphim were silent. The only noises were the squeals and snorts of the random animals some of them still carried. The animals looked as uncomfortable as Michael felt and he wished that he could just go back to the garden with them and forget about all of this Xanadu power-struggle nonsense.

"You are all insane," muttered Michael.

"True, but what's your point?" God asked.

Michael didn't bother to answer because God already knew what Michael would have said anyway, so speech was superfluous.

God smirked when he saw that Michael wasn't going to play his game, and turned to Sataniel instead. "Why have you forsaken me, my son?"

"I didn't forsake you," said Sataniel, puffing out his chest in pride, "You created me and for that I give you thanks but I am more than your creation now."

The other angels tittered from their places behind God but stopped abruptly when God held up his hand. "Enough! Sataniel, you have disobeyed me time after time. You have gone against my will. You have not aided your brothers in dispersing the animals, you designed Man to look like yourself instead of me, you ate the fruit from the Tree of Life—"

Sataniel slung his arm around the semi-woken Woman's shoulders and struck the most casual of poses before answering, "Michael did it, too."

Michael cringed and expected God to turn his wrath in his direction But God seemed focused solely on Sataniel at the moment.

"And you molested Sandalphon," continued God.

"But it was quite nice, actually," came a disembodied voice Michael knew had to be Sandalphon. Her voice was husky without being masculine, more resonant than the other angels' voices yet of a lighter quality. Michael ran out of words to describe it. All he knew was that he wanted to hear it again.

He watched the other angels look around, wondering where the voice had come from. God shook his head in disappointment while Sataniel stood up a little taller.

"He touched you inappropriately—"

"I didn't mind it, really," said Sandalphon.

"But my angels aren't supposed to touch each other."

"Whereas you can touch your companion angels?" asked Sandalphon defiantly. "That just doesn't seem fair."

"I'm God. I can do whatever I want." He stamped his foot to show his displeasure at her stubbornness.

"Maybe we need a new God," she suggested softly.

The clouds beneath God's feet started to do that thing where they turn a deep purplish black and the angels all cowered. God had turned from Sataniel and now stood staring off into space at what Michael assumed was Sandalphon. He focused on a place just to the right of where the voice was coming from and a vision of supreme beauty and grace emerged out of thin air. From what he could tell she looked exactly like Woman, only she was very much alive and her body was swathed in a form-fitting garment made of shimmering, dark green cloth. As soon as he could see her it was as if she knew he was looking because he could have sworn she winked at him before turning her attention back to God.

"This is what I get for giving free will to a female," God muttered.

"Yeah," she said, "Bad idea on your part. Well, gotta fly." Suddenly there was the sound of wings flapping and a light breeze as Sandalphon took off. Michael only caught a glimpse of her retreating form out of the corner of his eye before he turned his attention back to the standoff between God and Sataniel.

"Sataniel, my child," God began in a saccharine voice that belied the storm gathering beneath his feet, "I can still forgive you. All you have to do is ask."

"And why in Xanadu would I want to do that?" Sataniel asked.

"Because you love your God. Your God, whom you were created to serve and defend."

"Sometimes love is not enough."

God's face darkened and he pursed his lips. The conversation was not going the way he had imagined it and the angels behind him were growing restless. Had God gone soft? Why would he offer forgiveness after everything Sataniel had done? Still, he continued, "I forgive you, my child."

In response Sataniel kissed Woman again and breathed into her mouth. The angels gasped as her body twitched then lay still once more. "How about now?" he asked.

All heads swiveled towards God. God said softly, "I still forgive you, my son. I love you."

"Yeah? Well, I love lamp," said Sataniel defiantly. It made no sense but that didn't seem to matter to anyone. He strode boldly up to Gabriel, cocked his arm back, and punched Gabriel in the jaw. Gabriel went down and stayed there in a heap of wings and limbs. Sataniel turned back towards God, smiling, "And now?"

God watched as Raphael and Uriel helped Gabriel to his feet. Gabriel sagged against his brothers and pressed one had o his cheek as if to hold his face together. But even though it must have hurt his face wore a mask more of surprise than of pain. He spat and several of his teeth fell from his mouth and got lost in the clouds.

"I can still forgive you. All you have to do is ask."

Sataniel looked over to Michael and shrugged. Michael thought very hard at Sataniel to stop this nonsense and just ask for forgiveness but apparently Michael's telepathy was on the fritz because instead of stopping, Sataniel ran towards him and before Michael could step out of the way Sataniel cupped Michael's head in his hands and kissed him hard on the lips.

"_That's it_!" Bellowed God. The clouds beneath their feet trembled and lightning bolts streaked past them, singeing their hair and throwing Michael and Sataniel apart. "Did you not hear me when I said that my angels are not allowed to touch each other? That I am the only one who can lay hands on my angels?"

Michael stood slowly, unsure of what had just happened and unable to say anything to alter the course Sataniel seemed determined to take. He could only watch mutely as Sataniel turned around, unafraid, and said, "I heard. I ignored. Your time is over, God. Our time is beginning." He then turned to address the angels and his voice had a strange twang to it that hadn't been there before. "There's right and there's wrong. You do one and you'll live. You do the other and you may be walking around but you'll be as dead as a beaver hat."

"What's a 'beaver hat'?" asked Remiel, who just looked thoroughly confused by everything.

"The same thing as a vagina beret," was Sataniel's response.

"Huh?"

"Douchebagsayswhat?"

"What?" Remiel asked, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes.

"Enough, Sataniel!" said God, who had once more regained his composure. The lightning bolts were now staying beneath his feet and his face was no longer contorted in rage. "I cannot allow you to plague my Xanadu with any more of your lies and manipulations."

"Ooooh, I'm so scared," mocked Sataniel.

"You are nothing more than a wicked, petulant child."

"I know you are but what am I?"

"Really? So it's come down to that, has it?"

"Yep," said Sataniel.

God and Sataniel glared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. The angels held their breath. No one moved for so long that Michael started to believe that they had reached some kind of respectable stalemate. But then Sataniel grinned and God spoke and all of his hopes for reconciliation were dashed.

"You are banished from Xanadu," said God in a voice that made Michael shudder.

"Xanadu's a stupid name, anyway," said Sataniel. "I would have called it Heaven."

"I cast you out. You, and any who would follow you. I condemn you to live among Men for all eternity."

"I choose Michael," said Sataniel suddenly and Michael's head snapped to attention.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"Come with me. Let's defy gravity and all that jazz. Let's take the world by storm. Let's show them how a God can be."

Michael stared at Sataniel's outstretched hand. Then at his face, still adorned with his cocky smile, hope and madness shining bright in his icy blue eyes. Then to God, whose dark eyes were veiled with violence and sadness and vanity. He wanted to hope with Sataniel; he wanted to be his own angel and be accountable to no one. But he also felt the pull of God's will as if it were his own. He felt a connection to God that was at once maddening and reassuring. And he knew that to lose that connection would be to suffer unspeakable torment.

He saw God's smile widen out of the corner of his eye. God already knew his thoughts, knew what his decision would be. At the same time he saw Sataniel's cocky smile falter, only to be replaced immediately with one of disappointment and disdain.

"Fine," said Sataniel. "I don't need anyone, but if anyone is sick of existing under the thumb of an arbitrary and maniacal God, feel free to follow me."

There was a sudden burst of energy as the angels separated themselves into those who would stay in Xanadu and those who would follow Sataniel into the unknown. Remiel and Sariel were two of the brothers who chose to align themselves with Sataniel. The other angels Michael didn't recognize. He had been so caught up in his task of dealing with Sataniel that he hadn't realized how many angels God had created. Some were finished and looked much like Michael and his brothers. Others were half-finished oddities with multiple heads or green skin or tails. Some had wings, some had fins, some slithered and some rolled. Judging by the surprise on God's face, Michael got the feeling that not all of the angels were God's creations.

In no time at all the factions were aligned. Most of the freakish angels stood behind Sataniel, while most of the beautiful angels and God's original freaks stayed with God. Once more Sataniel and God sized each other up in silence and the angels waited.

Finally God commanded, "Now be gone," and Michael thought he detected a note of sadness in his voice.

Sataniel looked at Michael. Michael didn't know what to say. 'Goodbye" seemed too simple a word for this eternal parting between brothers.

Sataniel smiled, "You stay classy, Michael."

Michael smiled back, "Stay out of trouble, brother, and mind those singing dinosaurs."

"You just watch."

And Sataniel tipped backward off of a cloudbank into space. The freakish angels followed suit. Michael and the others raced to the place where he had fallen and looked down to see them streaking through the darkness like balls of fire, heading towards God's world.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," said a voice beside him. Michael turned to see God crouched at the cloud's edge.

"Wouldn't what?" asked Michael. The damage had already been done, hadn't it?

Moments later Sataniel's ball of fire, arguably the brightest of all the falling angels, impacted with the planet. An enormous explosion rocked the little world and a cloud of darkness quickly spread out from the point of impact in an ever-widening circle. The other angels hit the planet elsewhere, adding to the disaster until the blues and the greens could no longer be seen beneath the thick clouds of ash and debris that choked all life out of existence.

"He killed my dinosaurs," said God without much enthusiasm, "That bastard."

"Well that didn't quite go as planned, now did it?" Michael asked, smiling inwardly at Sataniel's genius.

"On the contrary, my child," said God, "It went exactly as planned. Now in eons Man can find the bones of my beasts and they will never suspect that God created something imperfect."

"I don't get it," said Michael, shaking his head.

"They really couldn't sing. They were perfect except for their voices. Man will find only fossils and never know that they couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Raguel stepped forward, "How will Man know anything? Sataniel has ruined your world. Man has no place to go."

"Watch and learn, kiddies," God answered with a sly smile. He wiggled his nose, for effect, Michael thought, and before their eyes the smoke obscuring the world started to clear. Once the oceans and the landmasses were once again visible God wiggled his nose again and patches of green appeared. In only a few moments time the world was exactly as it had been before Sataniel destroyed it.

"Exactly the same except for the dinosaurs," said God, reading Michael's mind.

"Please don't do that," Michael said.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"How'd you do that so quickly? And why'd you make us do all that work if you could have done it all yourself and so easily?" asked Gabriel, though the words sounded hollow and slurred through his swollen mouth with missing teeth.

God shrugged. "I don't know. Just wanted you all to feel important or something. At any rate, it's time to send them down."

God stood and walked over to Man and Woman and the other angels followed. This was the big day. Michael blinked and in an instant Man had changed to look like God looked now, with dark skin and hair and eyes. All of Sataniel's planning had been for naught because in the end God seemed to always have the final say. It was sad, really, and he wondered what Sataniel was going to say once he saw that Man no longer resembled him.

"What should we call them?" God asked Michael, interrupting his reverie.

Michael thought for a moment but didn't put too much stock in God asking for his opinion. He figured God was only asking so that he could decide which names to not use. "For Man, how about Adam," he said, throwing out the first name that came to mind. "And for Woman, I like Scarlett."

"Adam yes, Scarlett no. I think I prefer Lilith." God pressed his lips to Man's and breathed into him and in a flash of blinding light Man had disappeared. Then God did the same to Woman. It was all over quickly and felt rather anticlimactic for such an important moment.

"What happened?" he asked, a sentiment that was echoed by all of the other angels.

"I breathed life into them and sent them down to the garden, doofbrain. Though I think Man is going to have his hands full with Woman."

"Why?" asked Michael.

"Because of what Sataniel did," said God and Michael could have sworn he caught the shadow of a smile passing over his lips as he spoke, "It will be interesting, at any rate."

"What's going to happen?" asked Raphael.

"What are they going to do there?" asked Uriel.

"What do we do now?" asked Michael.

"Now comes the fun part," God said, "Now we get to watch."


End file.
